


24k

by 80slieberher



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, benverly sort of sideplot... not really sideplot but side pair, but also soft, god im so bad at tagging, it gets angsty, its stenbrough endgame dont be fooled by that stanlon tag, ive gotten good feedback so far so, like...just really smutty, reddie sideplot, smutty as hell, sugar daddy bill denbrough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/80slieberher/pseuds/80slieberher
Summary: Stanley Uris was in a bit of a pickle. Bill Denbrough helped him out in more ways than one. // sugar daddy bill falls for (soon to be) sugar baby stan, who strips at a local bar to make his rent. feelings are only on the rise from there, but once you hit the top - the only way left to go is down.





	1. one: a day in the life

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone so this is my stenbrough Sugar Daddy Bill a.u and bros its about to get lit in here i told myself i wasnt gonna start a new fic til i finished It’s Fine but uh fuckinnnn here i am,, that being said chapters of this fic will b much shorter than chapters ive written for my fics in the past (bc im a stressed high school student and also bc it’ll allow me to get them out faster!) also bare in mind i am a 16 year old girl i have no idea what working at an applebee’s is like or what a strip club is like either lmao

Stanley Uris’s perfect Saturday did not include working 9 to 5 at the shithole that was his local Applebee’s, but there he was, red apron on with lipstick to match, taking the orders of some obnoxious old couple that had their grandchildren with them.

“Hi, my name is Stanley! I’ll be your server for today. Can I start you off with something to drink?” The phrase automatically rolled off of Stan’s tongue as he smiled at the couple, who were trying to control their rambunctious assumedly grandkids.

“Water for me, iced tea for the wife,” The older gentleman gave Stan an obviously forced smile, “Sprite for the kids.”

“Why are you wearing makeup?” The boy closest to the end of the booth looked up at him with a sneer, earning a snort from the other boy beside him.

“Yeah, makeup is for girls and your name is Stanley! You’re not a girl!” He snorted at Stan as well, and Stan resisted the urge to scowl at them, maintaining the fake smile plastered on his face.

“I have to say,” The older man chimed in again, “Don’t you think it’s kind of unprofessional? Think of the kids, you know?”

Stan scribbled down the orders on the notepad tucked in the pocket of his apron. “I don’t happen to agree. Your drinks will be right out.” Stan replied as professionally as he could manage while being openly insulted before walking toward the kitchen.

“Bev!” He yelled as soon as he entered through the doors, looking around for the red-head irritatedly.

“Over here!” She answered, and Stan searched for her, following the sound of her voice until he found her just barely managing to balance five plates of food on one large pan.

“Yikes, let me help,” He smiled, this time letting it come more naturally, taking one of the plates and moving it so that it didn’t look like it was about to fall.

“Thanks,” She grinned her perfect, white tooth grin at him, “What did you yell for me for?”

“Can you take table 14?” He pleaded, not wanting to deal with the man or the boys he just had again that day, “I’ll take two of your tables, just  _please_.”

She chuckled, “Sure, Stan, anything for you.”

“Do you happen to have a makeup wipe, too?” He tried to ask nonchalantly, hoping she wouldn’t read too much into the question.  

She looked at him with sympathy in her big green eyes and didn’t say anything but “Yeah, in my purse,” before giving him a soft smile and exiting, but again not before giving a smirk and telling him,  “You can just dig through it, I gotta deliver these. You’ve got tables 6 and 11 now.”

Stan chuckled half-heartedly and moved to the front counter, finding the purse he recognized as his friend’s and digging through it. He found a small pink bag of makeup wipes and hurried to the backroom with it almost cradled in his arms.

Stan sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He had felt so good this morning - even knowing he was coming here, to work; even anticipating the comments and the stares - but he still couldn’t take it.

He watched himself as he rubbed off the red lipstick and the eyeshadow and the highlight he wore (spare the foundation) and looked at his now blander appearance.

Because that’s what he was, right? Bland. Stan Uris, boring nobody that liked to watch General Hospital and watch birds in his free time. That’s him.

Stan sighed again before throwing the used wipes away and leaving, making sure to tuck the package back into Beverly’s purse before continuing with his day.

The hours leading up to his lunch break seemed to trudge on, but they eventually found him eating with Beverly, Ben - his friend and Beverly’s boyfriend, who was a cook there - and Richie - his trashmouth best friend who he’d known since kindergarten.

“Yeah, I’m seeing someone, sort of,” Richie spoke with his mouthful of cheeseburger, nudging Stan as he answered Beverly’s question, “I don’t think Stanley here has been with anyone since that party in senior year. We need to get you out more, you can’t stay celibate forever, shy little Jew boy!”

Stan rolled his eyes, but gulped.  _If only he knew._

“Can so,” Stan mumbled quietly, picking at his noodles with fork, not feeling very hungry.

“Are you alright, Stan?” Stan looked up and made eye contact with Ben, and then Bev to his right - giving him the same concerned eyes.

Truthfully? No. Stan was not okay. He still owed his landlord half his rent from last month, on top of this month’s rent which he barely had. He just happened to be thinking too hard about it - and Richie’s mention of his sex life, or lack thereof, was not helping his state of mind. He felt like he might explode due to stress.

“Yeah,” Stan lied, “Just thinking about my rent and all. Carry on.”

“You know, I know we’re all struggling here - but we would never mind giving you some help,” Beverly put her hand gently on Stan’s wrist in a comforting way, “Right, guys?” She looked to their friends who each agreed with wide eyes and head nods.

Stan tried to shake his troubles for the next fifteen minutes for the sake of his friends. He knew he could never accept any of their charity - not when they expected nothing of him in return.

He appreciated their company nonetheless, though.

Getting back to work, Stan endured five more hours of grouchy customers and people with annoying, rude children - but at least no one said anything about his appearance again.

On his way out, he called goodbye to Beverly and Ben, waving as he exited the restaurant and getting into his car - one thing that he had thankfully paid off with help from his father back in high school.

The drive was peaceful - Stan forgot his problems for the few minutes, rolling down his windows and feeling like he could breathe for the first time that day.

The calmness the car ride provided dissipated upon entering his apartment. Any normal person with normal jobs that wasn’t in desperate need for cash would call their day over - but not Stan. Stan didn’t get that luxury.

He dropped his apron on his couch and got into the shower, getting ready for the  _rest_ of his work day.

The next two hours were spent waiting for his curls to dry, doing his makeup, eating, and - admittedly - watching thirty minutes of a bird documentary. Not exactly in that order.

Stan looked at himself in his hall mirror and takes a deep breath. He was still incredulous - and it’s been months since he made the job offer.

He took in his appearance, curls no long held back by a hair tie, lips and eyelids tinted purple to match his outfit - booty shorts and pumps. He opens his closet a final time, checking the digital clock on his bedside table - seeing that it was eight o’clock already and knowing he needed to get his ass in gear. He pulls out a trench coat and slips it on (How cliché).

He walked head-down out of his apartment, thankful he didn’t know any of the people who lived in it. He would be mortified if anyone he knew in his daily life saw him like this. This wasn’t Stan Uris.

Stan Uris was not an adventurous guy. He was, as previously mentioned, liked to watch birds and General Hospital and would rather die than disappoint his father. Stan Uris was boring, bland, regular.

Stan Uris was not a stripper at a gay bar.

At least, that was true as far as anybody he knew outside of The Falcon knew.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the rear view mirror of his car as he parked it behind The Falcon - the aforementioned gay bar that Stan worked at.

He pouted at his reflection, and then smiled slightly. He looked  _good_.

At least there was one good thing about working here - he didn’t  _have_  to be Stan Uris. He could be anyone he wanted - timid, confident, sexy, laid-back, flirty. Whatever he wanted to be, however he wanted to be; he could.

This thought propelled him to the door, sauntering in and hanging up his coat in his the back room. His only friend there - the only person who was consistently nice to him there - Eddie, was hanging around by his own locker - seeming to be in the middle of getting dressed - staring at his phone before he noticed Stan.

“Hey Stan,” He smiled, walking over to him and striking up a conversation, “How’s things?”

“Been better,” Stan rolled his eyes humorously, “You?”

“Never better,” Eddie smiled mischievously, causing Stan to raise his eyebrows in questions, waiting for Eddie to go on. “I found myself a sugar daddy.” He bragged.

Stan tilted his head, waiting for more explanation, and confused. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Eddie laughed, “Yeah, sort of - but I don’t even really like him. Shit just gets lonely, you know? I did meet this one guy, though, and he’s so-”

“Wait,” Stan chuckled, “Let me get this straight. You have a boyfriend, a sugar daddy, and you’re crushing? What if they find out?”

“Aliases, my dear Stan! I also have different names for them in my phone - though I don’t have the guy’s number - yet. He’s just a regular here, but I think we could really, like, be something, you know?” Eddie looked lost in thought - something Stan didn’t see very often.

“Can’t relate,” Stan laughed, almost bitterly. Was he lonely? Sure. Was he going to admit that? Hell no. “Well, I better get out there;“ He nods to the door, “Gotta make rent and then some.”

Eddie nodded, giving Stan a soft smile and a wave as Stan walked into the main room, lights reflecting off of his metallic shorts and shoes as darkness hid his features.

People began to pour in as Stan climbed the stairs of the stage - taking his pole with routine stature that was akin to confidence, but not quite.

He kept his eyes closed for the most part - the bright white light shining in them and making his eyes squint and his face scrunch up if he looked right at it - focusing mainly on his own movements instead of the faces of the people crowding him.

Two years of ballet and that brief year of gymnastics in high school had paid off; screw what his father said about them back then. They were practically what he was making his livelihood off of now.

He felt fingers push bills into the waistband of his shorts, ankle straps of his platforms, or just straight throw them at him as he spun ‘firemen’s around the pole, popping his nearly (and embarrassingly)  non-existent hips. But, hey, if the people wanted a twink white boy - he could deliver.

Ten thirty rolled around eventually and after several different dances (and several trips to the bar for water) Stan was worn out and made his return to the backroom - where Eddie was no longer.

He counted his total revenue for the night - mentally deducted what he owed the bartenders and the club itself, leaving it for them - and threw his coat back on, heading out to his car.

Once in the safety of the familiar embrace of a front seat he’s known for years - Stan broke down.

One hundred thirty. One and a half month’s rent due by Wednesday and Stan couldn’t manage to pull it together even when he tried his hardest.

He rested his arms on the steering wheel and sobbed into them for thirty minutes - trying to calm himself and come up with a rational plan for how he could manage all of this, but he  _couldn’t_.

So, he sobbed harder, fearing the worst.

A text from Richie illuminated his phone a few minutes later, (something about the universe being one large pizza) and caused Stan to realize that it was nearing eleven thirty and that he needed to get home.

The ride again provided solace - and Stan drove silently meanwhile considering living out of his car for the rest of his days. If Stan could stand small spaces and the cold, maybe it wouldn’t have seemed like such a terrible idea.

By one in the morning Stan was washing the streaks of mascara from his cheeks and lighting his favorite vanilla candle, readying a relaxing bath, and by two he was curled up in his hundred-thread-count sheets (a gift from his parents), trying to dream away his problems.


	2. two: the guy in the sunglasses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey bros i kno i should update its fine but im feelin this fic wayyyy more it has so much more poetntial than that Mess. ill get around to her eventually but enjoy this! it may b the last thing i write for a little while bc i have midterms in a week and a half soooo i suffer but yanno :) in this house we ignore our problems. also ur crazy if u think i proofread or edited this lmao never

Stan liked Sundays much more than he liked Saturdays. Sundays were days he could sleep in, listen to music while he took his time getting ready, and had time to watch 15 minutes of a rerun of General Hospital before leaving for work.

So that’s what he did.

Rising at 10, Stan took his time in the shower and drying his hair - throwing on his routine black slacks and black polo, and putting in his bag the ever accompanying red apron in his bag.

He opted for subtle makeup - just foundation, concealer, and natural colored eyeshadow - before sitting on his couch meanwhile drinking his morning coffee.

Soon before long it was 10:50, and he made the quick drive to work with Rex Orange County playing as his day’s soundtrack - effectively aiding him in ignoring his problems.

Clocking in at 11 exactly, Stan tied his apron on and made his way to the kitchen to greet everyone with small smiles and ‘good morning’s and waits for people to pour in.

“‘Morning, Stan,” Beverly smiled, “Have you met the new cook they put on yet?” She asked him, ‘they’ referring to management (who, apparently, actually complied with their complaints of needing more than one chef, as the place seemed to get busier every day - which was kind of odd for something as casual as an Applebee’s).

“Ah, no, I just got here,” Stan chuckled, her grabbing his arm and wiggling her eyebrows with her next statement while she dragged him over to where a guy he’d never seen before stood talking to Ben.

“He’s cuuuute,” She cooed quietly as they approached, quickly turning to Ben, “Hi, just bringing Stanley over to meet Mike!”

Stan turned to the brown skinned boy to his right who smiled at him and he smiled back, waving somewhat feebly. Beverly wasn’t wrong, to say the least.

“I’m Mike,” He stuck his hand out, “Nice to meet you.”

“Stanley - but you can call me Stan.” Stan shook Mike’s hand as Beverly interjected, grabbing Ben’s arm instead of Stan’s.

“Well, Stan, Ben and I have to go, uh, do something, maybe you can show Mike around? Later!” She rushed off, pulling Ben behind her before anyone else could get a word out.

Stan wasn’t dumb - he knew what she was doing. And though he knew it was never a good idea to get romantically or sexually involved with a coworker - he couldn’t say he was mad about it.

“Okay,” Stan rocked on his feet, “Guess I’m showing you around, then.”

“Guess you are,” Mike grinned, eyebrows raised, pushing himself off of the counter he was casually leaning on.

So Stan did - admittedly swaying his hips in a way he usually only did when he was at the club, but this guy was cute, so he could make an exception - right?

Stan pushed thoughts of the club from his mind.

“There’s not much to show,” Stan gestured to the stove, “And Ben is probably better equipped to show you around the cooking stuff than I am - considering I’m not a chef.” He laughed, and Mike flashed him a smile.

“If you’re busy - I can just show myself around. Nice of you to show me my post, though, Stan. Thanks.”

_Oh, god. Cute and polite? It doesn’t get much better._

“No problem,” Stan said, going to step around Mike, “I’ll see you arou-”

Stan was cut off by his gasp when his foot slipped out from underneath him and Mike’s arms quickly shot out to catch him - possibly holding him for a second too long.

“Thanks,” Stan’s cheeks burned.

“Call us even,” Mike chuckled, letting Stan out of his grip.

Stan, embarrassed, couldn’t even bring himself to respond - just let his cheeks burn redder as he turned and walked out of the kitchen.

The couple of hours before his lunch break weren’t great, but weren’t bad. Mediocre, if you asked him. At least he wasn’t wearing enough makeup for anyone to comment on.

Richie had texted their group chat earlier - telling Beverly, Ben, and himself that he had a date and wouldn’t be able to make it to lunch that day. Beverly asked if it wasn’t his third one this week and Ben made a joke about him not really having dates and just not wanting to hang out with them. Stan said okay - because it was. If Richie had other things to do, good for him, Stan didn’t mind.

Until Ben and Bev decided to skip out on him, too.

“Ben and I have to go grocery shopping on our break,” Beverly told Stan as they gathered plates on a tray to bring out to customers, “You don’t mind holding down the fort, do you?” She gave him her pleading eyes that she surely knew he couldn’t resist.

He sighed but smiled anyway, “Yeah, that’s alright. I got it.”

“You’re the best!” She grinned and kissed his cheek, causing an eye-roll from the curly haired boy.

So fifteen minutes later, the restaurant was nearly empty - except for the old couple taking their sweet time - and Stan was milling around the kitchen, cleaning up a few plates until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Stan turned around to face Mike. “Hungry?” He asked him, and Stan glanced to the clock behind Mike and noted the time - 1:46.

“Uh, yeah,” He smiled awkwardly and watched Mike reach behind him before handing him a plate of noodles.

“You looked kind of lonely - figured I’d ask you to have lunch with me,” Mike shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing his own plate and moving to find a place to sit - Stan wordlessly following.

They made relatively small talk. They talked about the weather, how college was going for Stan, (Mike told Stan he had graduated the year earlier); they exchanged phone numbers (for work purposes, of course) and talked about Ben and Beverly. Stan asked Mike where he worked before he applied at Applebee’s - and Mike told him he was a librarian at a children’s library downtown. When Mike flipped the question back to Stan, asking “What about you? Any other jobs?” Stan’s heart began to race - immediately going to the strip club.

Thankfully, he managed to answer smoothly, telling Mike he’d had a few other serving jobs during high school.

He pushed thoughts of the club away from his mind for the second time that day.

Three minutes before his break ended, and just as another customer entered, Stan got up from his chair, excusing himself with a blush and telling mike, “Thank you for lunch. It was really nice.” and Mike giving him and soft smile and nod in return.

Maybe Stan was hallucinating, but he swore he saw a little bit of pink on Mike’s golden brown cheeks as well.

The next few hours passed the same as the first few. Stan was briefly grateful of his shortened work day - but always gulped when it rationalized in his head that less work meant less money and less money meant more stripping and more stripping meant more work. So, there was that.

Ben and Bev came back thirteen minutes late, their hair disheveled and faces flushed. Stan somehow doubted they were actually at the grocery store - but he, of course, wouldn’t tell them how noticeable it was.

Stan clocked out at 4:30 on the dot, and maybe he might have slipped back into the kitchen pretending he forgot something to maybe see Mike again before he left.

“Thanks again for lunch!” He called to Mike, whose head turned up at the sound and a resounding smile broke out onto his face. Stan didn’t think he would mind seeing it every day.

“Stan, wait,” Mike called as he approached, throwing down the towel he was wiping his hands with, “We should, uh, do that again sometime. If you want. Like, I mean, not at work. Like, next Saturday?” He raised an eyebrow in proposition and laughed.

Stan grinned, the same pink from earlier warming his cheeks. “Yeah, I would, uh, I would love to.”

“Cool, cool,” Mike was suddenly busy brushing off his apron, “I’ll uh, see you around?”

Stan chuckled, resuming his walk toward the exit. “I’ll see you around, Mike.”

On the drive home, Stan couldn’t stop thinking about Mike. He was half surprised someone was into him, not just his body, and half surprised it was someone like Mike and not a creep from the club. God, he needed to get out more.

Floating on air, he practically glided into his apartment, plopping down on the couch and not even turning on the TV - opting just to daydream about the crush that was so quick to spur.

Not having a roommate was a blessing and a curse. While he could do whatever he pleased with no interruption or shame - there was no third-party to tell him the time on occasions he slipped up and didn’t check his watch.

Which is what happened when his phone buzzed and he finally realized it was twenty past six and if he didn’t get to the club within the next thirty minutes there was no way he was making rent this week.

He bothered only with highlight and light blue eyeshadow, ignoring the horrible, disgusting feeling of his makeup that he’d already worn all day sitting on his skin. But he would have to shrug it off for now - meanwhile shrugging on a different pair of light blue booty shorts and heeled boots to match, and finally the trench coat.

He nearly ran out to his car, moving as fast as his shoes would allow him.

This car ride was not comforting. It was filled with thoughts of the club, and of Mike, and Stan had to roll down the windows just to feel like he wasn’t suffocating.

If Mike found out Stan’s… alternate occupation, he would lose interest for sure. Stan wasn’t sure if that was something he wanted to risk.

The strip club had its perks, and as much as Stan liked to be alone, truthfully, he was terribly lonely and he knew it. He hadn’t had a boyfriend since high school, as lame as that is. Like Richie said - senior year was his last physical contact with a guy.

And there he was, 21 and a few months, breezing through college and only going to parties that his friends forced him to, and hanging back in the corner at even those.

Just not his scene.

Maybe that’s what attracted Stan to stripping. The profit, of course, but the stares, the praise - people seeing him.

Stan tried to calm his racing heart as he parked behind The Falcon - thirty minutes later than he would’ve liked. He frowned as he got out.

Maybe he would hang back tonight, he considered that as he entered - letting his coat fall from his slender shoulders and hanging it in his locker along with his bag.

But Stan knew he couldn’t as much as he wanted to. Rent was due on Wednesday and he was still four hundred dollars short of what he needed - not to mention his grocery expenses and what he was trying to save to pay off his semester’s classes.

“Fuck,” Stan sighed, his brows knitted together as he approached the stairs to his stage, ready as he’ll ever be to dance his ass off in exchange for his own well-being.

Stan closed his eyes and simply felt the beat of the music, trying not to stop as often as he usually would, reminding himself that he needed four hundred dollars in his pocket by Tuesday night.

What he figured might be his only break of the night came when beads of sweat began rolling down the sides of his face under the heat of the lights. The end of the song was a blessing, and Stan took the opportunity to scurry down the stairs and over to the bar, sitting down and ordering a water from the tender. He pulled at the dollar bills tucked into his shorts and boots, tugging them out to collect them on the counter.

His eyes widened when he pulled two one-hundred dollar bills, holding them up to the light and squinting (a trick he’d learned from Beverly) to check their authenticity. Sure enough, they were legit.

Before Stan could lower his hands, there was a low chuckle from someone who had come to sit next to him in the last minute. “They’re real, I promise.”

Despite the (bit strained-sounding) melodic voice, Stan turned, expecting some gruff, sleazy looking guy. Maybe with gray hair. Closeted old men seemed to love this place some nights.

Instead he was met with a guy that looked around his age, maybe a little older, with swooped dark hair and large sunglasses on that covered the parts of his face that the darkness didn’t. It was already so shaded in there, Stan didn’t know why this guy need sunglasses - but whatever, people did what they thought they had to do, he supposed.

It was clear this guy had money. His white dress shirt was pressed and tucked into expensive looking black slacks. Not like his work slacks.

The guy chuckled again at Stan’s lack of response, and Stan was reminded to close his mouth and noticed he’d been staring.

Stan watched him reach into his pocket again, tugging out another bill and sliding it across the bar, halfway between them to Stan, before getting up and walking nearly as soon as he’d come. Stan squinted after him but he was lost in the crowd before Stan could get a good look. All he knew was that he was tall.

He looked back to the bar top. The bartender had brought his water by then - but Stan was far too busy staring down the green paper that lay there.

Five hundred dollars.

Stan had never grabbed something faster in his life, keeping his mouth shut as he hurried back to the locker room to count his intake for the night.

Seven hundred eighty three dollars - and technically he was on a break when he received the five hundred - so he wasn’t even forced to take that into account when paying off the club and leaving tips for the other strippers. Stan was over the moon - he had a roof over his head and food in his belly for the next month.

This car ride was much better than the one on the way over, Stan fully turning on the radio and listening happily to whatever came on - against his usual picky nature. He was  _that_  happy.

He didn’t even care that it was twelve by the time he got home and he had to get up at seven to make his classes on time - and he would swear in the morning that it was the best night of sleep he’d gotten in a long time.


	3. three: the day met the night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yeah im gonna keep these chapters pretty short so i can keep em rollin to u guys!
> 
> me: okay anyway heres a 4k+ word chapter have fun i love u all and hate myself uwu

Stan had to pry his eyes open the following morning. It had been a great night, and all was well and good - but that didn’t mean he enjoyed getting up any time before at least 9.

He yawned, snoozing his alarm, immediately getting up and making his bed. This was followed by pulling on a knitted sweater and khakis.  _The pants of choice!_ Richie would mock them - and even Stan had to admit he didn’t dress as fashion-forward as he would like to, but when you can only afford new pants twice a year - why bother trying?

He was washing his face when he started to contemplate if he should even go to the club tonight. Mondays were never busy, it’s not like he would make any more than forty dollars.

And as he drank his coffee, not being about to shake the thoughts, the anxieties from last night came flooding back to him.

What if someone found out? What if suddenly bringing a romantic interest in his life would obstruct his… ‘Career’? Mike could not know he was a stripper. No one could know. No one could ever find out, either.

Stan was a secluded guy, but this? This went beyond seclusion - this was a matter of utter secrecy. Stan wouldn’t even let Eddie, his only friend from the club; know his last name or even his phone number.

He was that serious.

The only thing that managed to distract Stan was glancing at the clock when he’d finished his coffee, realizing that it was nearing time to go and thinking that he should really be getting out to his car.

The day seemed to drone on. He had packed his first semester full of credits so he would have more leisure time on the back end - but at what cost? Stan didn’t get to return to his apartment for another five hours, his classes all back to back.

At the end of his last class - Marketing, which he shared with Ben- the very same approached him.

“Hey, Ben,” Stan greeted before Ben could.

“Hey. I know we’ve got work tonight, but Bev wants to drag us all bowling afterward. Richie sort of already said he couldn’t go,” Ben paused to roll his eyes, “He’s got a ‘date’, but if you go, I swear you won’t be third wheeling.”

Stan smiled amusedly at the last sentiment, trying hard not to look like a fool while racking his brain for a good excuse - he still was undecided on going to the club or not tonight, and they had an essay due Wednesday on top of it.

“Ah,” Stan scratched his head and pretending to be busy looking for his keys while they walked, “I’m, uh, not sure. I’ve got this presentation in Business Law coming up - that I really have to start on… So, I don’t, uh, know how available I’ll be in upcoming weeks. You know, finals, and all. I’ll have to think about it.” He was sure his excuse worked, until Ben quirked his eyebrow.

“Finals aren’t for another month and a half. Are you okay?”

“Well, you know, you can never get started too early! Now, I’ve gotta get home and get ready for work - I’ll see you, Ben!” Stan didn’t waste another minute, swiftly disconnecting from his friend and making a beeline for his vehicle.

Stan relished in the hour he had when he got home in between college and work.

“Maybe I won’t go tonight,” He pondered aloud to himself while he set the teapot on the stove to boil- if only just to hear someone say it.

So the next forty five minutes passed without event or disturbance - the way Stan preferred to spend his time. He sat on his couch and drank tea and ate a sandwich and an apple in silence - flipping through pages of The Great Gatsby for what was probably the millionth time in his life.

What could he say? It was his favorite book - it would never get old no how many times he read it. It was a completely timeless masterpiece, in Stan’s opinion.

At promptly two fifteen, he changed into his work-clothes - too exhausted with school to bother putting makeup on - and made the few minutes’ drive to Applebee’s and clocked into a shift he wasn’t really at all ready for.

Until he walked into the kitchen and saw Beverly sitting on a counter talking to Mike, causing a smile to spring onto his face, dimples pressing into his cheeks.

“Here he is now!” Beverly noticed him and waved him over to them, Mike giving him a grin and nod.

“You were talking about me?” Stan quirked an eyebrow, trying to be cool as he crossed his arms.

“I was just telling Mike about tonight - seeing if he wanted to go. You’re coming, right?”

Stan’s stomach broke out into an ocean of nerves. “Uh, I can’t, Ben didn’t tell you?”

_Shit._

“I mean, he said you’d think about it, but I didn’t think you really couldn’t come. You’re not  _really_  studying for finals almost two months early, are you?” She chuckled, nudging him and causing him to shift awkwardly on the balls of his feet, carding his fingers through his curls.

“Staaaaan,” She mocked a despairing facial expression.

“Hey, hey,” Mike interjected, “It’s cool if he can’t go -” He shot Stan a smile, something Stan looked up just in time to catch, “I have some errands I have to run, anyway, so I’m afraid I have to turn down, too. You and Ben should go out and do something, Bev. Have a night out together.”

Stan felt like he could kiss Mike’s feet he was so thankful. He breathed a silent sigh of relief.

Beverly huffed just as Ben called back to them. “Guys, a few people just came in. You wanna get that?”

So Stan and Bev were off, Stan taking table 12 and the orders of a young couple of girls, maybe in high school.

It wasn’t a horribly busy day, but Stan couldn’t help but count down the hours. Though he would’ve been happy to hang out with his friends, Stan liked his alone time - something he hadn’t been getting much of lately - and the little bit of time earlier was just a taste of the time he would have tonight.

He could see it now, as he walked to another table, notepad in hand: himself, Days of Our Lives reruns, Chinese takeout, tea, some candles, getting started on his essay -

He snapped himself out of it as he reached table 7, clicking the pen and looking up from his pocket at the guy seated as, “Hi, welcome to Applebee’s! My name is Stanley and I’ll be your server today, can I start you off with something to drink?” tumbling instinctually from his lips.

In the second it took the guy to reply, Stan squinted at him. Something about him seemed very familiar - but Stan couldn’t place it. It made him suspicious, but he was somehow intrigued.

The guy’s lips upturned as his bright blue eyes scanned the drink menu, and he chuckled. It only made Stan more suspicious, but he tried to push it down. He was at work; it wasn’t the time or place to overthink.

Twenty six more minutes.

“I’ll just take a water.”

God, that voice! Why couldn’t Stan place it?

“Okay, I’ll have that out to you in a minute!” Stan did even bother writing it down. There was nearly nobody there - he literally was back at the table within a minute with a tall glass of water in his hand complete with a straw and a lemon.

“Are you ready to order, sir?” He asked, placing the glass down in front of the man.

Stan watched him put his chin in the palm of his hand as he rested his elbow on the table.

“What’s a puh-p-” He cuts himself off, taking a sip of his water before restarting. “What’s a pretty guy like you doing in a place like this?”

Stan barely refrained from giving him a funny look - and he might have if this guy didn’t give the impression that he was going to tip well - light blue, pressed dress shirt tucked neatly into black slacks gave away that he was clearly wealthy.

They looked about the same age - so maybe it wasn’t weird for him to hit on Stan, but it was weird that he was a customer.

Nevertheless, Stan could use a 30% tip, so he decided to entertain the guy. It’s not like he had anything better to do.

He lets a breathy laugh fall dryly from his mouth. “Well, I’ve gotta pay my college tuition somehow. Speaking of, are you ready to order?”

He laughed, nodding and giving Stan his order finally, Stan writing it down and turning with an, “Okay! That’ll be out in just a moment!”

Stan thought briefly about him. He wasn’t ugly - that was for sure. But Stan guessed no rich person is really ugly - if they were they could just get, like, plastic surgery to make them good-looking. He chuckled at the thought, handing the order to Mike - who, he was reminded by the blinding smile he received, didn’t need money to be attractive.

Stan leaned against the counter with Beverly while Mike and Ben worked - each waiting for their tables’ orders to come out.

“So, what do you think?” She asked him, grinning enthusiastically.

“Think about what?” He furrowed his eyebrows. He loved Bev, but she forgot to clue him in on too much.

“The guy at table 7! Do you think he’s cute?”

“I thought you were trying to set me up with Mike?” Stan laughed, thoroughly confused, “Why are you doing all of this.”

“I  _was_ , until you turned down the date I was trying to set up for you! We’ve been friends for years, Stanley, I know you live alone and I know you’re lonely as fuck. I just want to see you happy,” She bumped his shoulder with hers, “So - what do you think? He seems like-”

Stan cut her off, “Bev, yeah, sure, he’s good looking. Would I have sex with him? Sure. Am I going to? No. He’s just a customer,” Stan sighed, “Dunno what a guy like that is doing in an Applebee’s - of all places- anyway. And I can get my own dates! I’m not helpless - just busy.”

She raised her eyebrows at him disbelievingly. “So you mean to tell me you can get a date with Mike by yourself? You can’t look at him for three seconds without blushing and you’ve only known him a day!”

“For your information,” Stan retorted, still battling to defend his ego, “I already have. While you and Ben were fucking in Ben’s minivan, I was having lunch with him. I gave him my number, he gave me his, we talked, and he asked me to go to lunch with him Saturday. I said yes.”

“Stanley!” She swatted his chest, making them both break out in smiles, “You didn’t fucking tell me that, you bitch!”

“Sorry, I didn’t remember my love life being any of your business.”

“Stan!” Mike called, interrupting them, “Table 7’s ready!”

He nodded, making his way over to collect the plate as Beverly yelled behind him, “This conversation isn’t over, Uris!”

“Yes, it is!” He yelled back as he took the plate and re-entered the dining area.

However, when he reaches the table, the guy from before is gone - the glass of water is half empty, and there’s a bill and sticky note laying on the table, and another blue thing - a sugar packet?

Stan set down the plate, picking up the note first, stuck to the bill that he could now see was a one-hundred.

_Sorry - had to run. This should cover it. Keep the change, Stanley._

That certainly would cover it - his order total was only $16.

Stan picked up the last thing that was left on the table - the sugar packet. Maybe he had misplaced it - but what would he have needed a sugar packet for? All he had was water. Unless he was just weird.

Then, Stan noticed the writing on that, too.

 _Bill_  and a phone number.

By some instinct, Stan found himself pursing his lips and tucking it into his back pocket - before picking back up the plate, water glass, note and dollar and taking them back to the kitchen.

Beverly gave him a confused look at he walked back in.

“What’s this about?” She gestured to it all as he put the glass in the sink and the plate on the counter. The busboy could get it.

“I don’t know - he was gone when I got there, and this was left on the table.” He handed her the hundred dollar bill and the note.

“Sorry - had to run,” She read aloud, “This should cover it. Keep the change, Stanley. Huh. So did he hit on you? Was this all he left? No, like, number or anything?”

“Nope,” Stan lied with a shrug, hoping he seemed nonchalant. He wasn’t even sure why - he didn’t usually keep things from Beverly when she asked.

“Well,” She shrugged, “Yeah, it’ll cover his bill.”

Stan clocked out exactly on time - as he made it routine to do. Something that gave him anxiety if he didn’t do.

He absentmindedly felt for the sugar packet in his back pocket on the way to his car - as he’d already done three other times in the past twenty minutes, like it was just going to disappear.

He wasn’t sure what to do. He was sure he wasn’t experienced enough to know what to do. Should he call soon? Should he not call at all? Why did he write it on a sugar packet instead of on his note - did he not want people to know? There were too many questions - and Stan sighed when he realized the only person he knew who would had enough expertise to answer all of them was at the one place he didn’t want to go tonight.

So Stan shifted the car in gear and routed a way to The Falcon on his phone - hoping Eddie would be there.

He tried to rehearse what he would say. He wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to ask Eddie. Surely he could just tell Richie and Richie would give him an explanation? But then again, he didn’t trust Richie not to mess with him.

But he could have asked Beverly. She would’ve told him honestly - but he had to admit, he wasn’t very open to going through with asking her after just telling her she had a date with Mike. It would be wrong to show interest in someone else, now, wouldn’t it - so why was he doing it?

He couldn’t find any answers within himself as he stepped out of the car. The club looked different in daylight - there weren’t as many neon lights on, and not as many cars were parked.  _Well, duh, it’s Monday. Nobody’s going to go to a strip club on a Monday - except Eddie, hopefully._

It was Stan’s lucky day - walking through the door he heard Eddie yapping in the locker room, and he turned the corner to find him on the phone - facing his locker.

“No - I don’t know if he’s coming tonight… You went to his-?! I told you that in confidence! Oh my god, now he’s gonna think… You  _what?_  Well that’s great and all, but-”

“Eddie?” Stan interrupted, and Eddie whipped around, seeming startled.

“Oh, hey!” He said to Stan and holding up a finger, returning the phone to his mouth, “I’ll call you back later, we’re not done talking about this, you weirdo.” He huffed before tapping the screen and shoving his phone in his back pocket, facing Stan again, “What’s up? ‘Feel like I don’t usually see you here on Mondays unless you’re super in need for cash - but you’re not dressed.”

“Yeah, uh, actually - I came to talk to you,” Stan admitted, fishing in his back pocket for the sugar packet. “I- You have more experience with men than anyone else I know. This guy came into my work today - you know I work at Applebee’s - and he was dressed sort of fancy, so, you know, I was like ‘why is this guy at an Applebee’s?’ So he gets a water, flirts with me, orders, and then leaves before I can even bring his food out to him. He left way too much money and a note telling me to keep the change. And this.”

He held the packet out to Eddie, and Eddie took it and turned it over in his fingers and smirked, but Stan was continuing before Eddie could reply.

“And if he wanted me to call him - why didn’t he just write it on the note? Why this? So like - do I call? Or should I not - ‘cause, like, he was just a random customer and that would be weird-”

Eddie cut Stan off with a laugh. “Trust me, Stan, this is a number you’re gonna want to call. Sly dog,” He murmured the last part with a shake of his head and a breathy laugh.

“So… I should call him?” Stan asked innocently, chewing on his lip.

“Yeah, I mean, if you want to. Remember we talked about sugar daddies - the other day? I know it was sort of passing- but…”

Stan nodded - knowing where this was going.

“That’s why it’s on a sugar packet, buddy. It’s a proposition - of sorts.”

“You’re kidding.” Stan was dumbfounded, eyes wide. Why would anyone want to be his sugar daddy? He was the most average, boring person he knew. He wasn’t sure if he could even accept that.

“Do I look like I’m lying to you?” Eddie raised his eyebrows daringly, handing back the packet to Stan. “I should get out there, though, I’m tending tonight.” He nodded his head to the door that led out to the main room. “Tell you what - go home, do some research, and let me know how it goes the next time we cross paths. Oh, and put in your one weeks’ notice, if you’re going to accept. Something tells me this guy is willing to give you anything you ask for.”

Stan nodded, still dumbstruck, as Eddie tossed him a smile before exiting.

He stood there a moment, collecting himself.

_Willing to give you anything you ask for._

So Stan followed Eddie’s prescription - returning to his apartment and immediately sitting on his couch, laptop on his crossed legs.

“Okay, uh,” Stan thought, fingers readily resting on the keys, “Define - Sugar - Daddy,” He spoke as he typed. His thoughts were racing far too fast for him to control anything that escaped his mind through his mouth.

_A rich older man who lavishes gifts on a young woman in return for her company or sexual favors._

Sounded a lot like prostitution to Stan.

He scrolled down the google page past other definitions, scanning the website titles for something that would help him. He didn’t know where or how far this investigation could go.

_What Is A Sugar Daddy & How To Be A Sugar Baby. Looks promising._

So Stan read. He read page after page, visiting a total of 6 different websites before his curiosity was satiated.

Did he want luxury? Yes, of course he did. He had no argument against that. Did he want a relationship that didn’t require any work at all except sexual favors and company? He wasn’t sure.

He had read an article about the differences between having a sugar daddy and being a prostitute - but he wasn’t sure if he was totally sure.

But, then again, what did he have to lose? At the least, this meant he could quit his job at the club. And maybe Applebee’s.

So Stan paced nervously in his room with his phone in hand, open to the dial pad.

 _Don’t be such a pussy, Stanley, not everything in the world is out to get you! Just do it!_  The Richie of his mind encouraged him.

He ran his fingers through his curls with a sigh and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

“Do you want this?” He found himself asking his reflection, like it would reply.

He nodded at himself solemnly and turned back to the phone, scanning over the numbers he’d typed there earlier. He already knew they were right - he’d triple checked. Maybe a fourth time wouldn’t hurt -

He was stopped reaching for the sugar packet by realization his finger had accidentally tapped the call button.

Panicking, he took a deep breath while it rang to calm his nerves before he heard the phone be picked up.

He gulped.

“Corporate Estate Works, CEO Bill Denbrough speaking.”

Stan forced himself to take another deep breath before speaking so his voice wouldn’t come out as shaky as he felt. “Hi, uh, this is Stanley… From Applebee’s? You left your number on a…a sugar packet.”

There was a laugh from the other end. It was hearty, genuine, “Yeah, I probably cuh -,” He coughed, “- could’ve come on better.”

“You can say that again,” Stan chuckled dryly, his sarcasm flowing naturally and his nerves easing a bit at the casualness of the conversation.

“My point is,” He cleared his throat, “I’m very used to getting what I want - and I want to get to know you, Stanley. Let me tuh-,” Another cough, “Take you out sometime.”

Stan was talking before he could stop himself. “Not if you have a cold,” The smirk and challenging eyebrow raise were evident in his tone, thankfully.

“I have asthma.” The answer was blurted, and Stan felt bad. He just made fun of someone’s  _asthma_.

“Oh, uh, fuck,” Stan laughed awkwardly, “I was joking, but I mean, I have school and work usually right after - I work two jobs, so I… I don’t a lot of free time -” Stan rambled before he was cut off with another low chuckle - causing something familiar to ring in his head but not being able to place what.

“You won’t miss making any money. I’ll muh-,” Cough. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll never have to worry about a thing when you’re with me.”

Stan exhaled, thinking back to what Eddie said to him only a couple hours earlier.

“Are you - Are you propositioning me to be my sugar daddy?” He questioned bluntly.

Another chuckled rolled through the speakers of Stan’s iPhone. “I suppose - but you don’t really have to call me daddy, uh-” Cough. “Unless you want to.” The smirk could be heard.

Stan was a little too overwhelmed to form any type of intelligent reply, so the only thing that escaped his mouth was a chaste, “Okay.”

“So how’s Saturday? I’ll take you out for lunch, and we cah-,” Cough. “-Can talk things over?”

“Yeah,” Stan answered, unthinkingly and truthfully feeling dazed, “That works. Will you, uh, be in touch?”

“Great!” He responded, possibly more enthusiastically than Stan expected, “Yes, I will definitely be. I hate to cuh-cuh-c-cut this short but I’m being called to a conference. I’ll talk to you later.”

The three beeps signaled he hung up, and Stan felt okay for a minute.

He looks back at himself in the mirror. “Guess you don’t have to pay your bills now,” He said to his reflection with a shrug.

He moved back to his kitchen, starting up a kettle of tea on the stove.

It wasn’t for another forty-five minutes that Stan’s head shot up from attentively writing his essay.

“Fuck!” He exclaimed, cursing himself. In thinking about his essay, he thought about calling Ben - asking him a question about what he was going to write about - but reminded himself that Mike insisted Ben and Beverly take tonight to have a date night and have time to themselves.

And then he remembered his and Mike’s own date.

He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face, thinking about a way to either cancel on Mike or reschedule with Bill. Either one was rude - and he should have been more thoughtful on the phone instead of so awestruck.

If he cancelled on Mike, what was he supposed to say?  _Oh, sorry, I have a date with my sugar daddy at the same time as our date and I’m afraid that he won’t give me money if I cancel. Oh, and it’s probably worth mentioning that I’m a stripper at a gay bar. Haha! Raincheck?_

Stan wanted to hit himself.

He didn’t reach a resolution before he turned back to his essay, and just as he finished it he noticed the time with a yawn.

It was ten o’clock, and after getting minimal hours of sleep for the past few days, Stan decided it would be best to turn in early.

 _Put in your one week’s notice,_ Eddie’s voice rang in his head smugly as he shuffled back to his room.

Should he? There was no guarantee he would like this guy - and if Stan didn’t like him, why would he stay in a relationship of any sorts with him? He could get by on his own. Barely, but he could. With the help of kind strangers from the bar, of course.

His thoughts were disrupted by a loud yawn that escaped his lips again. Washing his face, he knew he felt guilty, but at the same time - he was excited somehow. Maybe it was time he ditch the routine - as much as it scared him. Maybe Richie had the right idea - though he wasn’t there to weigh in on any of it. Stan wondered briefly about him as he got into bed - he hadn’t seen the trashmouth in a couple days now at that in itself was unusual, coupled with Richie suddenly having dates? Unheard of.

But nonetheless, maybe Richie - the one in his head, at least - was right (for once).

Maybe this Bill Denbrough was just enough to shake up Stan’s world.

And, boy, would he.


	4. four: tell me this is okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read my authors note at the end of the chapter i have a bunch to say!! also sorry for being garbage at characterizing bill up until this point but it was kind of necessary but also idk who let me do that. but here he is as the good ol big bill we know and love ((keep in mind im copying my authors notes straight from tumblr and not editing them at all so like... lmao)

Stan’s classes on Tuesday could have been worse, he knows, but the universe let him have a good day overall. He turned in his essay early, printing it out in the library just before his lecture. 

It might have helped his good mood that he wasn’t alone for a second of the day - Bill’s texts keeping his phone buzzing in his pocket.

They’d exchanged bits of information, Bill telling Stan his favorite color was yellow, he was 26, and that his net worth was upwards of a few hundred million dollars. 

Stan told Bill, among other things, that his favorite color was blue, he was 22, and that his net worth might be the 2 nickels in his pocket - to which Bill said might be appropriate, considering he’s a dime. 

Stan was sitting on his couch during his in-between hour, considering asking for fewer hours at work, as opposed to turning in a quitting notice. It seemed too early - and Stan was far too cautious to get so ahead of himself. This way, if things didn’t work out, he would be prepared and able to return to his usual schedule. 

He turned his attention to the soap opera again before he could delve further into his thoughts. 

He knew he still had yet to tell Mike about Saturday - but he still didn’t know how. Stan didn’t very much appreciate that it felt as if his life was becoming a soap opera with the unnecessary drama.

But if there was one thing Stan did know - it was that he didn’t want to lie to Mike. Mike had been nothing but kind to him, and Stan saw no reason to lie to him - he deserved the truth. 

At the same time, the truth was not something Stan’s morality could afford.   
Plus, wasn’t he lying to Mike already? By technically withholding the truth about the club?

Stan bit his lip, turning back to his tea cup.

_I mean, if I’m already lying…_

_It’s not like we’re serious… It’s one date; I’m just being dramatic…_

Stan’s mind flashed to Eddie - specifically, Eddie telling him about his sugar daddy and his boyfriend, both of which he wasn’t even interested in. 

If Eddie could have the best of both worlds - Stan didn’t see why he couldn’t, too.

But this conclusion circled back to the original issue: how to tell Mike.

Stan sighed, getting a glimpse of the time from his phone that had lit up with a text from Bill. Time for work.

Getting dressed and going out to his car, Stan attempted to practice a few lines in his mirror. He was never particularly good at lying right to people’s faces. 

“I can’t come on Saturday, I’m really sorry… No,” Stan sighed, giving up and electing to simply ignore the problem until it forced his attention or went away.  
 _This is an issue for future Stan - I’m going to be late._

And ignore it he did. Stan didn’t talk to Mike or answer his texts all week. He felt bad, they had really hit it off, but he just couldn’t bear to donate any more time to the nerves that gathered in his stomach whenever he even entertained the thought.

Good thing Bill kept him busy with lots of texts, lasting morning til night most days - only pausing for Stan’s classes and Bill’s conferences. 

Even better that Stan hadn’t actually seen Mike all week, their schedules apparently not syncing up again until Saturday (What with the approval of Stan taking less hours, the bit about taking Saturdays off still pending) - a day that Stan knew he would not be attending work, anyway. Apparently, management decided on bringing on a new server to make up for his absence, and he couldn’t complain. 

When Ben and Beverly inquired why he requested fewer hours, he replied with a simple shrug and the excuse of studying for finals. They rolled their eyes and told him they thought that was ridiculous, but didn’t push it. Stan hoped it wasn’t obvious that he was hiding something. 

The best part of the situation, however, was that Stan and Bill turned out to be pretty compatible. After getting to know some basics about each other, their conversations moved to talking about their days and any obscure things that happened - as well as Bill sending Stan pictures of birds he saw, something that Stan much appreciated. He didn’t have enough time to go bird-watching these days. Maybe that’s what he could do with some of his new found free time. 

In the midst of all of this, of course, Stan made his rent. His landlord was pleased, and made a half-joking statement of, “So, do you want to try paying monthly advances?” 

To which Stan laughed forcefully and answered an easy, “No.”

Stan didn’t think Friday would be much different from the rest of his week. School went fine, he woke up to a good morning text from Bill that put a small smile on his face, and he wasn’t assigned any big projects. He even naively convinced himself that Mike had completely forgotten about the date and that he was off the hook.

Walking into work, however, Stan found out he was wrong fairly quickly.

“Stan!” Mike called to Stan as he entered the kitchen, and Stan was shocked to say the least. He felt the urge to turn around and walk back to his car and drive away. Far away.

Instead, he watched Mike approach and chuckled somewhat nervously. “Mike, what are you doing here? You’re not scheduled for this evening…”

“I know, and I was just leaving my shift, actually - but since I caught you, I figured I would ask, I guess… You just haven’t answered any of my texts - I know I only sent two but,” Mike paused to laugh, lightening the mood, “I wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything wrong. If I’m coming on too strong, let me know.”

And as Stan looked into Mike’s big, innocent and sincere brown eyes (his own probably still wide with surprise), he felt guilt rise in his body before he even spoke his next words.

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t know how to tell you,” Stan scratched the back of his neck, searching for a good excuse, “I have to cancel for tomorrow… I forgot I made plans… With, uh, my dad, this weekend. Tomorrow, I mean. I’m really sorry,” He gave Mike the best regretful expression he could manage - and Mike seemed to buy it.

He leaned back slightly, standing taller, a smile gracing his features once again. “Oh! I don’t know why you were afraid to tell me that. Some other time?” He quirked an eyebrow, appearing ever confident that Stan would say yes.

“Definitely,” Stan gave him a grin in return, and watched as Mike began to walk past him and to the exit.

“I’ll see you later, then?”

“See you,” Stan answered before continuing to the kitchen - where he was immediately cornered against the door by Beverly.

“You bitch!” She squinted at him, her hands on her hips. Stan didn’t reply, too confused. “How could you request Saturdays off, too? Saturdays are our group lunch days!”

“I can still come here to eat, if I want to, you know. And I’ll still be here sometimes, I just need… Sometime to myself, is all.” Stan lied again.

“Oh, what, studying for finals?” She said with an eye roll as Ben came up behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her back from Stan a bit - allowing him room to breathe.

“Yes,” Stan answered simply with a shrug of his shoulders, hoping neither of them gets suspicious.

“Staaaanleeey,” Beverly whined behind him as he slipped around them to finally get to work, “You don’t love us anymoooore!”

Stan chuckled, “Not when you act like this. I haven’t had any time to just be a person - I’ve been so busy working. Not that I don’t love seeing you guys every day, but I do need some time.” He tried his best to sound like he had the logic in the situation. “I’ll take tables 8 and 3 just to make it up to you.”

It was a couple hours into his shift when he was leaning on a counter in the kitchen, waiting for another table’s order, when Beverly came to sit beside him and try to see what he was doing on his phone. Bill had asked how his shift was going - he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t biting back a smile when his phone buzzed - and he was in the midst of replying when she not-so-subtly tried to peer over his shoulder - causing him to press the screen into his chest to prevent her seeing.

“Can I help you?” He joked, turning to face her and seeing her squinting at him.

“I’m telling Richie on you if you don’t let me see.” She demanded, holding her hand out for the phone. Stan shook his head.

“It’s nothing, I’m just - just looking at memes, I swear,” He tried to laugh off. She didn’t seem to believe him very well.

“Then why were you typing?”

“Looking for a specific meme,” He claimed, meanwhile checking behind himself to see if the food for his table was done. “Oh look at that! That’s my table’s food, bye Beverly!”

Stan avoided his friends for the rest of his shift, residing in the corner and opting to text Bill instead.

Stan wasn’t one to text and drive, but he was on his phone immediately upon getting out of the car - already texting Bill, who had said he’d had such a long day and was completely exhausted. Stan admitted to feeling pretty tired himself, and as he walked in the door, Bill did something unexpected: his next text confessed to being way too lazy to text and asked if Stan wanted to just talk on the phone instead.

Stan thought about it for a minute, setting down his things and his apron on his couch before moving back to his room. They hadn’t physically talked since the kind of awkward phone call they shared on Monday. Bill seemed so different over text, though - he had much less of a formal presence, instead being someone Stan actually wanted to talk to all the time. Stan wasn’t sure if he wanted this version of Bill to end, but found himself typing the words ‘sure, call whenever you want to, I’m not busy for the rest of the night’ anyway.

He was jittery in waiting for his phone to ring - though it didn’t take Bill long, the few minutes in between his reply and the call seemed to drone on with Stan’s nerves. He entertained the question of the last time he felt like this - not since high school, probably, that was when his last real crush was.

So maybe he had developed a small crush.

Stan nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone rang, picking it up just as quickly.

“Hello?” He tried to sound casual, not like he’d stared at his phone for the past five minutes in waiting.

“H-Hi,” The voice over the speaker answered him, and a silence fell between the two of them for a few moments, until Bill laughed. “I’m suh-s-sorry, is this weird? We don’t h-have t-,”

Stan interrupted him, “No, no. This is okay, I’m just - tired is all, I guess. Tell me about your day.”

“I’ve tuh-told you about my day all day,” Stan could hear Bill’s smile, “Tell muh-m-me about yours.”

“I’ve already told  _you_  about  _my_  day all day.”

“Let’s tuh-talk about tomorrow, then. I get to wuh-w-woo you.”

“ _Woo_  me?”

They laughed. The conversation started to flow easily then, and they talked for a while before Stan noticed something was off.

“You haven’t coughed yet,” Stan said, his voice coming out unusually concerned, “I mean, I just feel like you coughed a lot last time we talked. Asthma, right?”

Bill made a noise that sounded close enough to an uncomfortable chuckle. “See, the th-thing about that is, I, uh, I don’t ruh-really have asthma. I used it as a cover for my stuh-stuh-st-” He paused, and Stan could hear him take a breath, “- _stutter_ , ‘cause I’m embarrassed ab-bout it.” Stan guessed he heard Stan’s snicker, because he laughed as well and continued, “I know it was probably pr-p-pretty dumb - but I’m used to people not tuh-taking me very seriously when I stutter. I have to try really huh-hard to talk without it, but it was way worse when I was a kuh-k-kid.”

At the mention of being difficult to talk without it - Stan went quiet as something in his mind clicked.

“You mean, like… Strained? When you try to talk without stuttering, I mean?” He asked, now biting his lip and turning the thought over in his mind.

 _It’s certainly possible._  The thought made his stomach churn.

“Hm, yeah, I guh-guess so. I probably sound preh-pretty strained.”

“So you’re the guy?!” Stan noticed he raised his voice too loudly too quickly and cringed at himself, “You’re the guy from the bar; you gave me seven hundred dollars?”

Stan was mortified. No one was ever supposed to know about the stripping - no one in his personal life, at least - and now Bill knew and he  _cared_  about Bill’s opinion of him, quite a lot despite not knowing him for very long. He groaned, forgetting Bill could hear him for a minute.

“I-Is that bad?” Bill asked, accompanied by nervous laughter.

Stan continued to chew on his lip as he considered this.  _Yes,_ his mind told him,  _yes, that’s fucking bad! He knows! He knows! He knows your secret!_

But Stan realized he wasn’t quite as worked up as he always imagined he would be. His life hadn’t come crashing down yet, the fact that he stripped didn’t seem to deter Bill at all, and it felt almost sort of comforting that someone knew now. That he didn’t have to keep it to himself now.

“No, actually,” He found himself replying, “I always figured I would be super embarrassed and probably have to, like, die if anyone ever found out about the fact that I strip at a gay bar, but I’m kind of relieved… That I don’t have to keep it to myself, now.”

They stayed like that for hours - Stan lying in his bed doing nothing but talking to Bill and Bill admitting to doing the same.

It’s a wonder that Stan didn’t notice when he began to fall asleep - or that Bill’s increasingly sleepy tone matched his own - until the next morning, when he awoke to something being mumbled into his ear.

“Stanley? Stuh-Stanley? Are you awake?” It was low, and admittedly…  _Sexy_ , Stan’s morning-fogged mind finished.

“What?” He asked groggily, blinking to help open his eyes, “I am now, asshole,” He sassed, earning a low chuckle. “You let me fall asleep! I didn’t even get to set my alarm and now I’ve slept too late and-,” Stan cut himself off with a sigh, still too sleepy to continue his rant.

“Good muh-morning to you, too, princess,” Bill retorted simply, the nickname sounding like it rolled off of his tongue as if it were meant to be there. Stan blushed at the action.

“Good morning,” He responded quietly, pretending to pay attention to his hands though Bill couldn’t even see him.

Bill hummed softly before speaking again, “Ready for our duh-date today? What tuh-t-time should I pick you up? I stuh-still have to woo you, you know.”

Stan hummed back while he thought. “Twelve,” He concluded, “If we hang up and you let me actually get ready.”

“Deal - tuh-t-text me your address. See you in a cuh-couple hours, princess.” He said the last sentiment teasingly - had Stan been that obvious?

But with that, he hung up, once again leaving Stan flustered and, for the first time, wishing he could hear more.

“2 hours,” He mumbled to himself after checking the time, rubbing his eyes and getting up from his tangled covers.

Stan got to work immediately after making his bed and texting Bill his apartment address - no time for coffee or tea if he was going to look nice.

He jumped in the shower immediately, daydreaming about how the date could possibly go while he washed his hair.

He knew somewhat what to expect from Bill - judging from his mannerism over text and on the phone, he was exceedingly polite and considerate - albeit stubborn, but Stan was, too, so he didn’t mind. He knew when Bill promised (“Cuh-cross my heart and huh-hope to die, Stanley!” Coupled with a laugh Stan wanted to hear on repeat for the rest of his life) that the date would be perfect, he meant it. He just didn’t know if that made him more excited or nervous.

Getting out of the shower, Stan wrapped the towel around his waist, his flattened, wet hair falling around his ears. He opened his closet and bit his bottom lip.

_What to wear?_

He pulled out a white, cuffed sleeve dress shirt.

_Maybe…_

He turned to his dresser, pulling out a pair of nice black slacks to pair with it. It was a simple look, and it was alright - but not near what Stan was going for.

Having an idea, he turned back to his closet, pulling out a dress Beverly had given to him some time ago - some occasion he couldn’t remember, she’d given it to him with a matching pair of nude heels - that he never got to wear. All he knew was that  _this_  is what he was going for.

He understood this, but understood just as well why he never wore the dress, for the same reasons he rarely wore makeup to work. The stares. The comments. The whispers behind his back.

Plus, what if Bill didn’t like it? Stan knew Bill had seen him in makeup - since, well, the club - but a dress? Was that taking things too far? Especially if they were going out in public…

His better judgement took ahold of him, again, however, and he decided to just text Bill and ask what to wear.

A response came within seconds: ‘something fancy.’  _Very descriptive, Bill_. Stan rolled his eyes.  _I need a little more help than that._

Stan stared at the sleek, pale dress and his mouth settled into a half-frown.

 _Oh, just fucking do it, Stanley! You have nothing to lose!_  Richie’s voice sounded in Stan’s mind.

 _Oh, yes, I do. Bill - and my dignity,_  Stan cynically replied - arguing with Richie even in his head.

 _Then just do it because you know you want to. Fuck whatever else, dude._ Richie finished.

Stan chuckled once to himself. “Thanks, Richie,” He mumbled.

Some while later, Stan was anxiously checking the time on his phone meanwhile checking himself in his mirror - making sure his hair was styled perfectly, his dress looked right, and that his makeup was  _on fleek_. He checked the time again, five to twelve, he noted - when his phone rang.

It was Bill.

“Hello?”

“Are you ruh-r-ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Stan joked.

“Very funny,” The sarcasm dripped from Bill’s voice and Stan felt excited to hear it again in person. “I’m outside, I wuh-would’ve knocked but I didn’t know which ap-puh-partment was yours.”

“I’ll be right out,” Stan hung up and took one last look at himself in the mirror before walking down the hallway and out the door.

Stan’s attention was then turned from locking the door behind himself to Bill - who stood leaning against a stark black limo that matched his black dress shirt and pants, holding a large bouquet of red roses.

As Stan approached, he noticed Bill’s mouth hanging open slightly.

“Is it too much?” He asked bashfully, motioning to the dress and shoes, “I can go change-,”

“Nuh-no!” Bill interjected, shaking his head and blinking a few times, “Yuh-y-you look amazing. Perfect. Uh, w-wow.” He shook his head, and Stan felt his cheeks flush red. He thought he looked good - but not good enough to make someone flustered like that. “These are f-f-for you.” Bill quirked a smile and Stan took a risk and leaned up to peck him on the cheek, whispering a ‘Thank you’ in his ear.

He resisted the urge to smirk when he saw Bill gulp from the corner of his eye.

“There’s so many,” Stan remarked, taking the bouquet from Bill, glancing up at him teasingly from under his eye lashes, “You’re so extra,” He raised his eyebrows with the remark.

“You love it,” Bill smirked, apparently recovered from moments earlier, now making a show of opening the door for Stan to climb in.

It was very comfortable, Stan had to admit.

“So, where are we going?” He asked as they started moving - Bill sitting closer to him than he thought he would.

“Do you kn-know Solstice?”

“The most expensive place within a 50 mile radius of here?” Stan looked at Bill incredulously, who simply smirked and raised his eyebrows, reaching up to put his arm around Stan.

“Th-that’s the one. I was going to fuh-fly us out to Paris so we could eat on the Eiffel tower, but I felt thuh-that was more appropriate for dinner plans.” The smirk never left his face, and Stan nudged his side with his shoulder.

“Smooth, Denbrough.” Truthfully, he couldn’t tell if Bill was being serious. Could he do that? Stan guessed he could only so much as find out from here.

There was more chatter between them - not about anything in particular, a lot of teasing, Bill asked Stan if he was wooed yet - but Stan zoned out once Bill’s hand had somehow snaked down from being around his shoulder to on his thigh.

It wasn’t until that point that Stan actually understood what Richie meant about not hooking up with people in a long time. Sure, he got off - but he was the epitome of touch starved. So touch-starved, that something as simple as Bill putting his hand on his thigh gave him chills.

He didn’t let his mind entertain anything past that.

Exiting the car was the same show as getting in - Bill holding the door open for Stan and even giving him his hand to help him out. Stan presumed the nickname earlier was teasing - but was it wrong to say he really did feel like a princess? Because that was the only thought running through his mind at the moment.

Bill, unexpectedly, grabbed his hand and led him into the restaurant. Stan had never been somewhere so fancy that people opened doors  _for_  you.

Stan glanced down at their entwined hands. He hadn’t anticipated Bill being so, he didn’t know, public? About the whole endeavor. Not that he minded - it came as a pleasant surprise.

His thoughts jumped again to the definition he’d read nearly a week ago. Wow - not even a week had gone by and Stan’s life was already turning upside down. Huh.

_A rich older man who lavishes gifts on a young woman in return for her company or sexual favors._

So what was it that Bill sought in return? Should he ask? Should he just enjoy his company? Maybe Stan should have done more research on how to be a sugar baby. He listened quietly to Bill speak to the host.

‘Reservation for Denbrough,” He spoke in that strained, controlled voice. Stan wondered if it was obvious to anyone else.

“Ah, yes, right this way, Mr. Denbrough. It’s a pleasure.”

Stan was guided again by Bill to a table - except it wasn’t what he’d expected, exactly.

It was a small, rounded booth, with a small, circular table - both raised on a platform. Bill helped Stan up wordlessly, Stan sliding in toward the middle of the booth - Bill doing the same on the other side.

And they were next to each other again. Close together again. Stan didn’t usually like people in his personal space - but somehow, he didn’t mind Bill so much. Maybe because he felt that if he asked Bill to move, Bill would. But he didn’t want him to - which was odd.

“You oh-okay?” Bill asked him softly, looking down at his side to Stan.

“Yeah, I’m just… Kind of speechless, I guess. I’ve never been to a place where they open the doors for you. I feel like a famous person.” He licked his lips - the glass in front of him catching his eye. “Is this champagne? Already? Jesus,” He half-laughed. Speechless was one word for it.

“D-do you not like champagne?” Bill’s eyes widened, and if Stan wasn’t so busy being  _wooed_ , he would have realized the sudden nervousness in them. “Huh-here, we can get suh-something else, uh, what duh-do you like?”

Thank god Stan could take a hint - the unusual extra stutters giving Bill away.

“Bill, babe, its okay, I like champagne, there’s no need to rush - see?” The pet name slipped out like second nature as he took a sip of the champagne - it was  _good_  - to show he didn’t mind.

He saw Bill relax, and they made mild conversation for twenty more minutes until they decided they should, actually, order.

“I don’t know what to get,” Stan mused absentmindedly, eyes scanning the drink menu. There were names of fancy drinks lining the page - and Stan couldn’t say he recognized most of them.

“You cuh-can have  _anything_  you want,” Bill replied coolly, leaning into Stan to look at the menu as well. Stan could feel his chest rumble against his shoulder as Bill spoke.

He had a feeling he wasn’t just talking about alcohol, and his mind yelled a loud, ‘ _you!_ ’ but he decided to ignore it.

“Is that how it is with you?” Stan inquired, gazing up, “Do you get whatever you want?”

“Yeah, I-I’m kind of used to it. You will be, too.” Bill answered, his eyes still lazily scanning the page -

_Shit._

\- Before he picked his hand up to linger over Stan’s, pointing to a name of a drink Stan didn’t recognize. “That’s good. It’s luh-like champagne, but better.”

Bill ended up ordering for both of them - drinks and meals. He apparently knew what was good and what wasn’t, and Stan trusted his judgement, so he let him order. Again, something out of the ordinary. Stan didn’t like when people spoke or made decisions for him - except for Bill, now.

Bill asked a lot about Stan’s life and family while they ate - and Stan was something akin to touched. Bill was being very sweet - complimenting his mother’s beauty without ever having seen her (“She must be beautiful if she gave birth to _you_.”), showing interest when Stan talked about how his father and him used to go bird watching, and even entertaining his stupid stories about childhood vacations without looking bored once.

Stan, half-jokingly, remarked in his mind that Bill might try to kill his family if he didn’t comply - but for a minute scared himself before reminding himself it wouldn’t matter anyway because here he was, complying.

It was all cute on the surface - up until mid-way through talking about a trip to the Grand Canyon; Stan noticed Bill’s eyes would flicker down to his lips every so often.

Upon further scrutiny, Stan stopped to notice Bill’s teeth tugging on his lip and the pink swelling in his cheeks. He looked like he wanted to jump him.

Stan had to bite back the smirk that was growing, meanwhile maintaining his story.

_Okay, you wanna play? We’ll play._

“My dad was obsessed with the view,” Stan stopped to bite his lip, slowly running his tongue across it, “And I guess it  _was_  kind of cool.” He reveled in watching Bill’s eyes never leave these movements, and he repeated them - as well as throwing in some other moves: batting his eyelashes, looking up from under them instead of tilting his head, the usual bit.

Their conversation moved from Stan’s family trips to other things, namely Bill saying something along the lines of, “I juh-just want you to know, this is a busy season for us, at thuh-the office, I mean. I won’t be able to be available as off-often as I would like to, but I’ll stuh-still be around.”

Stan couldn’t miss that Bill’s mouth was now almost right against his ear, whispering as opposed to talking regularly. Hell, he even went so far as gently tucking particularly stubborn locks of hair back behind Stan’s ears.

But what was chilling Stan the most in that moment was Bill’s  _damn_ hand on his  _damn_  thigh.

Bill ran his hand up and down Stan’s thigh, squeezing occasionally, and going higher each time - at least, that’s what it feel like.

At one point, he even pushed the fabric of Stan’s dress up, exposing skin to cool air and making Stan gasp in surprise at the shivers that wracked his body for a moment.

The only response that came to this was a low chuckle in his ear - making it very clear that Bill did that on purpose.

A short time later, Bill mumbled, “I huh-have to use the bathroom - a minute, princess.”

And there was that goddamn pet name again - not to mention the tracing of his fingertips over Stan’s cheek and shoulder.

_That was definitely purposeful. You motherfucker - two can play at this game._

The moment Bill returned, Stan smiled overly sweetly at him. “I have to use the bathroom,” He excused, carefully stepping down from the platform.

He smirked when he knew he could feel eyes staring at his ass - and he knew exactly who they belonged to.

He didn’t even really need to use the bathroom.

The last gesture, however, Stan found pretty sweet.

They had finished as much of their meals as they were going to, and Bill was about to turn to pull out his wallet when he stopped to stare at Stan for a minute.

Stan felt insecure under his gaze, until Bill spoke. “You h-have an eyelash on your face. Here…”

Bill leaned in close, purposeful or not, Stan didn’t know, but it was  _close_.

“There,” He stated, swiping at Stan’s cheek - however unmoving from his inch proximity to Stan’s face.

“Did you get it?” Stan half-whispered, hazel eyes stuck to Bill’s light blue ones like glue.

“Y-yeah,” Bill’s eyes still poured into Stan’s as Stan just barely felt Bill’s breath fab across his face.

 _Are you sure there’s nothing on my lips?_  Stan’s mind demanded he ask, but he simply sat there, dumbfounded for the millionth time today by Bill Denbrough, as he watched the very same retract and pull out his wallet.

“Ruh-ready to go?”

Stan nodded; surprised he could even catch his own breath.

The ride back was no better than the restaurant - but this time, it was Stan who put his hand on Bill’s thigh and had the privilege of feeling Bill tense up. He deemed it fair vengeance.

But it was pretty PG from there. They ended up talking about their next adventure - Bill claiming to not want to take up too much of Stan’s time today. Saying he deserved to relax.

“Is there anything in pah-particular you want to do?” Bill asked him, and the answer didn’t require much thought.

“I haven’t been birdwatching in a long time. Too busy. That would be nice,” Stan remarked, picking at a piece of lint on his dress.

When he looked back up, Bill was looking at him with a puzzled expression.

“What?” He asked, insecurity growing.

_God, at least try to seem interesting. Could you be any duller? Telling him you want him to go bird watching with you, really?_

“Nuh-nothing, I just - that’s a very simple requ-quh-hest. I mean, you kn-know we can do anything, right? I could fly us out to France, o-or Greece, or Spain-,”

“I know, it’s a boring idea for a date. Not much wooing involved, I guess-,” Stan went to shrug, trying to hide the fact that his feelings were hurt. He forgets to jazz it up for two seconds and suddenly everything is game over.

“N-no, that’s,” Bill interrupted and shook his head, “That’s not what I muh-meant. I just,” Bill sighed. “I guess I’m nuh-not used to people wanting to do, like, normal things.” He laughed.

Stan cocked his head.

“Like, whenever I’m with suh-someone, they want to go do something expensive because they can. A-a-and I’m like that, too, I guess - but you’re not. Suh-s-so yeah, let’s go birdwatching some time.” He finished, and he looked sincere as well as deep in thought, so Stan simply replied with an, “Okay,” and they switched topics.

Bill made less of a show of letting Stan out of the car once they had gotten back to his apartment, but walked him to the door in some sort of compensation.

Stan thought it was sweet.

“Thanks again for the flowers,” Stan glanced down to the large bouquet in his hands, “and for lunch… and for everything.” He gushed, cheeks heating as he stared down into the beautiful roses.

“Suh-seeing you all prettied up for me was thanks enough,” Bill replied, hushed due to them standing so unconsciously close.

“Shut up,” Stan let out a breathy laugh, bashfulness overtaking him before he felt a hand land gently on his hip and looked up to meet Bill’s eyes.

Bill was leaning in and before he knew it, there was a hand holding his opposite cheek, thumb stroking where his highlight was. If it were anyone else, Stan would’ve protested - but right now, with Bill, he didn’t care.

“Tell me this is okay,” Bill barely whispered, breath now fully fanning warmly across Stan’s cheeks.

With lips parted in anticipation, all Stan could do was nod meekly.

_No stutter._

Stan’s eyes fluttered closed as Bill closed the gap between them, his lips meeting Stan’s in a way that wasn’t hungry like the touches shared in the car or the restaurant. Rather soft, slow, careful. Pleasant.

When Bill disconnected, Stan had the urge to chase after his lips, but didn’t make any move to.

“Bye,” Bill whispered, his fingertips tracing the surface of Stan’s cheek and hip as he pulled them back - walking back down to the limo before Stan could even formulate a reply, sure his cheeks were as red as the roses now.

Stan fumbled for his keys in the same bag he had brought with him, unlocking the door and nearly throwing himself inside - only to shut the door behind him and sink his back down against it to the floor.

_Oh fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY BROS i love how its been two (2) days since my last update and im like here u go. 6k words. i couldve broken this up into three or at leAST two chapters but what fun would that have been!! meanwhile it takes me weeks to update its fine bc its fine is so horribly written and makes me die inside. the first chapter is well written but the rest is garbage BUT I DIGRESS
> 
> so the things i have to say areee i have hella midterms so i wont be able to write til next week - ill be picking up all my fics then most likely but also updates will be slower bc i MEGA slacked this marking period and i need to like. up my game in school and do less fandom stuff. sad sad sad - i also have to get another job bc in this economy? my family is gonna lose our fuckin house so i need to like pitch in more so im gonna be very very tight for time in the next few months. 
> 
> this summer gonna b lit tho i promise
> 
> NOTES ABOUT THIS FIC::
> 
> also please please PLEASE consider how smutty this fic is going to get. im taking like full on descriptions. chapters that are almost entirely sex based. if you know the nature of sugar daddy relationships this shouldve been expected but im saying this for anyone ive already pulled in w this fluff that doesnt know whow smutty this fic is intended to get. again, im not gonna be offended if u ask to be taken off the taglist !! i understand we all hav our triggers & discomforts !!
> 
> okay i think… thats all


	5. five: the finer things in life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: this is gonna be the last chapter for a little while :(
> 
> me, three-four days later: anyway here’s the next chapter, its almost 5k words. have fun!

Stan was quick to find out that Bill was not shy with gifts - expensive gifts.

The first incidence of this being arriving home from school one afternoon and finding several large bouquets of flowers - and a note, clearly in Bill’s handwriting, reading:

_You never told me your favorite._

Stan had laughed, cheeks rosy-ing, and then struggled to bring in all of the plants - not having enough vases for all of them. He told himself to mention that to Bill - he was wasting perfectly good flowers.

The next gift had showed up on a day that he was home in between work and school - though he’d starting taking more and more days off.

It was a Tom Ford cocktail dress - one he remembered passingly mentioning to Bill on the phone one night. He hadn’t expected him to remember - or even know what he was talking about - but he did, and that was somehow better than the dress itself.

“I guess he was a fan of the whole dress thing, after all,” Stan mumbled to himself, carefully removing the dress from its coverings and hanging it in his closet.

The next gift was most unnecessary - and though Stan would’ve liked to keep the exotic bird Bill had bought for him - he wasn’t sure he had the time to care for it properly, much less that his apartment allowed pets.

He sighed, pressing the call button next to Bill’s number and holding it to his ear. Bill only took two rings to pick up, and the excitement was so clear in his voice when he asked, “Did yuh-you get it?” that Stan almost laughed.

It was hard for him to bite back a smile, so he didn’t. “I can’t have pets in my apartment, Bill. You need to return him. He’s beautiful, and I appreciate it - but I don’t want to get evicted.” He was slightly disappointed, but very flattered.

“Your landlord duh-d-doesn’t let you do anything fun,” Stan listened to Bill pout on the other line, “Why do yuh-you even live there?”

Stan chuckled, “Because it’s affordable.”

Bill was silent for a minute, “Afford-duh-dable? What do you thuh-think I’m here for? I’m ruh-rich, Stan, my friends don’t call me Big Bill for nothing,” He joked.

“Big Bill?” Stan had asked, eyebrows raised though Bill couldn’t see him.

“Yeah, you knuh-kn-know, like big bills. Like huh-hundreds.”

On top of all of this, he had offered to pay Stan’s _bills_. Well, it was less of an offer - he more or less just took them from Stan. Not that he was complaining.

“You’re not paying them an-anymore,” Bill had shrugged, “You relax. Yuh-you go to school. I’ll take cuh-care of it - of you.”

It was only another week since their conversation about Stan’s ‘fun-policed’ apartment (as Bill had put it - Stan laughed, thinking he sounded almost like Richie. He missed his best friend) before his appliances began failing him.

His dishwasher broke mid-wash, forcing Stan to hand wash the dishes and thoroughly wasting forty five minutes of his time.

The same night, his shower began to only run lukewarm - something Stan, who preferred showers that steamed up the glass and nearly scorched his skin, didn’t take any particular sort of liking to.

He was complaining to Bill about these incidents when Bill interrupted him,

“Oh my guh-god, I’m not letting yuh-you live there anymore. Why duh-don’t you just move in with me? Or something,” He added the last part dismissively enough - Stan got the point.

“Very subtle, Bill,” Stan smiled, rolling his eyes. He was touched Bill would want him to live in his home. “And maybe I would, but all of my stuff is here…” He looked around his room, “It has sentimentality - even if it is a piece of shit.”

“I’ll buh-buy you new stuff,” Bill quickly countered, “Come on, Stanley,” He whined.

Stan sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

“Fine,” Bill groaned.

In between gifts, they went on quite a few dates as well. If this was what Bill meant by not being around much - Stan couldn’t imagine what it would be like when he  _was_  around much.

Their second date was going bird-watching - as previously discussed. Bill humbled himself, somewhat. He didn’t bring the limo when he came to pick Stan up - granted, he drove a Lamborghini, but the thought was there. He wore normal clothes - not the fancy attire Stan had always seen him in. He’s sure the clothes he did wear still cost as much, though, and that his ripped-up, loose white t-shirt was from Kanye’s yeezy collection, but he didn’t mention it. It was a nice change, easy on the eyes with the simple black jeans. Bill looked like a dream like that - and Stan wished he would dress like that more often. But, then again, he couldn’t complain - Bill looked good in a suit.

He also packed them a picnic that he seemed to have put together himself - he blushed a deep red and looked down at his hands when Stan asked.

Stan had brought his old binoculars that he’d had since he was a kid - not exactly his very first pair, but the pair his father had given him for his 13th birthday.

Bill must have noticed how outdated they were, because arriving home from work the next day there was a small box sitting on his doorstep - and inside, a pair of shiny new ones. Stan was overjoyed - he was smiling wide like a little kid on Christmas.

They also might have made out against a tree - or several - but Stan pushed the thought from his mind, biting his lip to stop the smirk growing there.

After all, Stan was supposed to be relaxing. He sat on his couch and tried to force himself to pay attention to whatever was on TV - but he couldn’t, thoughts of Bill continuing to plague his mind.

Thoughts of Bill holding Stan’s hips against the trunk of an oak tree, that  _fucking_  chuckle rumbling low in his ear as a gasp leaves his lips. Of Bill’s lips smacking against his own before moving down his neck - causing Stan to shiver and leaving a bruise at his collarbone that look way too much foundation to cover.

Stan felt his cheeks heat as he traced his fingers over where Bill had marked him - it seemed to be his favorite spot, as the naked skin there was always purple and the first time, against the tree, had been almost a month ago.

_Moving on._

As if Stan had clicked the channel button on a remote control, his mind changed the image to the next time he and Bill had hung out.

_It was a Friday night, Stan had called in ‘sick’ to work - simply because he didn’t feel like going - and he was laying on his bed being bored and texting Bill._

_Bill, apparently, was also bored - prompting him to tell Stan that he’s coming to pick him up and they were going to watch a movie. Stan didn’t seem to have any say in the matter, but he didn’t mind, he wouldn’t have objected anyway._

_So within forty minutes they were sat on Bill’s couch in front of a TV that looked like a movie theater screen._

_Finding Nemo was playing, but neither of them was paying attention. Stan couldn’t even see the screen with the way he was straddling Bill, finding grinding his hips down into the boy’s under him a much better use of his time._

_Bill didn’t seem to mind, groaning into Stan’s neck where he was placing open-mouthed kisses while Stan rocked against him again._

_Gasps that so frequented Stan’s mouth when he was around Bill emitted again when Bill’s hand explored and made its way to ghost over Stan’s hard on in his sweatpants._

_“Is this too fuh-far?” Bill asked as he usually did when they did new things - Stan swooned inside as he breathed, “No, no, don’t stop.”_

_He knew he was touch starved before, but didn’t expect it to only intensify under Bill’s touch. His hips unconsciously bucked forward when Bill started palming him, moans already coming out in hums against Bill’s mouth._

_Bill moved his lips to Stan’s neck again, his hand now tugging at the waist band of Stan’s pants._

_“Touch me,” Stan heard himself start to beg, voice nearly cracking, “Pl-Please, Bill. I want you to.” He assured, squeezing his eyes closed and moving to bury his own face into Bill’s neck._

_Bill didn’t waste any time after that revelation, hand moving under Stan’s boxers now as well as his pants._

_“Jesus fuck,” Stan hissed in pleasure when Bill barely touched him._

_“I th-thought you were Jewish,” Stan could hear the smirk in his voice, and he chuckled, stalling and ghosting his touch over Stan, making him weak._

_“Touch me,” Stan demanded again, more desperate this time around, “You said I can have anything I want, this is what I want.”_

_Stan rocked his hips up, chasing friction against Bill’s palm, Bill humming smugly in response, clearly enjoying this._

_“I didn’t s-say you wouldn’t have to beg for it, princess,” Bill almost cooed, rubbing up Stan’s shirt with his other hand._

_“Please, please, I-I,” Stan was half-panicked._ Senior year, senior year. _“Wanna feel good,” His instincts led him to plea, “Please, sir, please - wanna feel good…”_

_The sir hadn’t been on purpose, it more or less just slipped out - but Bill groaned nonetheless and Stan took that as a good sign._

_Bill didn’t reply, instead wrapping his hand around Stan’s dick and beginning to pump, Stan’s lips falling open in ecstasy and his hips trying to find a rhythm._

_“Relax, baby,” Bill soothed, running his hand over Stan’s bare side under his tee shirt again before gripping it firmly, keeping him still, “I’ll t-take care of you.”_

_Stan whimpered into Bill’s neck for the following ten minutes. It wouldn’t have taken so long if Bill hadn’t been so torturously teasing - slowing down his strokes just so he could hear Stan beg him for more, beg for him to speed up again._

_Stan had cum, though, when Bill slid his thumb over the tip - sending Stan into a frenzy of “Ah”s and sloppy kisses to Bill’s neck._

_They’d laughed about it after cleaning up. It was started by Bill: “You juh-just got a hand job to Finding Nemo,” He snorted, “I al-almost lost it when you moaned at the same thuh-the turtle came on screen.”_

_“At least I didn’t_ give _a hand job to Finding Nemo,” Stan sneered back, both of them breaking into a fit of giggles, “Wait, were you watching over my shoulder? Oh my god!”_

Stan smiled fondly at the memory, focusing back on his small TV to distract from whatever was going on in his pants. He clicked away the memory again.

He remembered that on the way home from their bird-watching-picnic date, they agreed to take turns picking dates. Sure, Stan didn’t see Bill all the time - but for the way Bill had said he “wouldn’t be around as much as he’d like to,” he was around enough to drive Stan insane - in a good way. A way he liked. A way that released zoos of butterflies in his stomach.

Their (technically) third date was just the past weekend, and Stan knew he would be lying if he said he wasn’t counting down the days until he would be able to see Bill again after that one.

_Stan’s phone rang in his pocket, Bill’s name and profile picture lighting up the screen - a picture he’d snapped of Bill looking particularly aesthetic holding his old binoculars up to the clear blue sky - and Stan caught a glimpse of the time, 8:45, before he slid the answer button over._

_“Hey baby,” He picked up smoothly. Bill had become accustomed to calling Stan when he pleased - Stan not so much to Bill unless he knew he wasn’t busy - so Stan wasn’t surprised by the call with lack of warning. After all, it had been three weeks since their first date, which Stan saw fit as a suitable amount of time to get to know someone and develop a routine._

_“I’m taking you suh-somewhere tonight,” Bill’s voice always sounded different over the phone, Stan much preferred hearing it in person._

_“Where? When? You know, maybe I had plans.” Stan joked._

_“Oh? Well, fuh-fine,” Bill teased, “I just wanted to see my princess, buh-but he’s too busy…”_

_Stan hummed, humored. He felt like anyone else would’ve misunderstood his sarcasm, but not Bill. Bill understood him. “What time are you picking me up?”_

_“Mmm, suh-say, nine thirty? And wear th-that dress - the Tom Ford one.”_

_And with that, the three beeps signaled he hung up. Oh, he is so lucky Stan had already taken a shower._

_Stan, by some miracle, managed to get all dressed up in 45 minutes - makeup on, wedges he used to wear to the club that he deemed not trashy on, and of course, the dress - and was fluffing his hair in the mirror when the knock on the door came, signaling that Bill was there. He picked up his bag, equipped with everything he might need in the small purse, as he headed to the door._

_“Fuck,” Bill said as soon as Stan opened the door, already eyeing him up and down, “I’m suh-so glad I bought that.” Stan blushed._

_“So where are we going?” Stan asked as Bill walked him to the limo. Of course he brought the limo._

_“You kn-know Foncé?” Bill opened the door for Stan, who, in passing, got a small whiff of Bill’s cologne - and had a faint feeling he’d end up smelling less like his own cherry blossom perfume and more like Bill by the time the night was over._

_“That A list club in the city? I thought only rich and famous people get in there,” Stan answered absentmindedly, Bill climbing in behind him and shutting the door before he realized, “Oh, yeah, you are a rich person.” He laughed._

_“I knuh-know, I’m just so humble that you forget,” Bill rolled his eyes, taking a jab at himself for Stan’s amusement._

_Stan went to reply, but before he could - Bill was putting his hand on his thigh and rubbing up and down._

_“Oh, no,” Stan chuckled, putting his hand on top of Bill’s to keep it still, “Last time you did this was in that restaurant and I nearly popped a boner in a dress and in public. Not happening, Denbrough.”_

_“Suh-since when were you the one calling the shots, princess?” Bill’s mouth was suddenly closer to his ear than he’d noticed, and he was nearly growling._

_“Driver,” Stan found his mouth moving calmly, way calmer than his thoughts, “Roll up the partition, please.”_

_With his request completed, Stan managed to (in his mind) smoothly hook a leg around to Bill’s other side, straddling him. Putting his hands on Bill’s broad shoulders to - somewhat - steady himself, he leaned down to whisper in his ear._

_“Since now.”_

_In an instant, Bill was greedily pulling him down into a kiss, hands snaking up his thighs and already finding his ass, bucking his hips up against Stan’s._

_“God,” Stan breathed in between kisses, Bill quickly moving to suck on his favorite spot on Stan’s neck meanwhile Stan’s fingers ran through his red-brown hair, “You think - you think with you doing that I didn’t want you to fuck me right there? You could’ve rawed me at my doorstep and I would’ve-,” Stan was interrupted by Bill, who was now tugging harshly on the ends of his dress._

_“Off. Now.”_

_Stan merely hummed in response, catching Bill’s mouth again with his._

_“Stan.” Bill groaned, tugging harder on the fabric as Stan ground his hips down, “Be guh-_ good _. I said take it off, now.”_

_A ripping sound - and suddenly Stan was happy to oblige if it would stop Bill from ripping his dress any further. He sat up a bit, now somewhat kneeling over Bill - and awkwardly ducking his head to avoid it hitting the ceiling._

_He glanced down at a point, beginning to pull up the ends of his dress, to see Bill watching him with wide eyes that were scanning his body before he was even undressed._

_Stan felt insecure for a moment - but at the same time he was too far to run and hide now. But he couldn’t help but think about his lack of hips, how he had no curves like Eddie or muscles like Mike or even ass like Richie. He was a stick - a twink._

_But he continued to pull his dress up his legs (knowing this was the wrong way to get out of it, but being too turned on to care), and Bill’s hands travelled immediately to his hips after the cloth left them._

_“Lingerie? Are yuh-y-you fucking me?” Stan looked down to find Bill’s eyes glued to his crotch, thumbs stroking the waistband of his light blue panties._

_‘Do you not like it?’ Stan wanted to ask, but found the words, “You wish,” snarkily flowing off of his tongue instead._

_Finally pulling the dress up and around his head, Bill quickly grabbed it from his hands and tossed it to the ground, running his hands along Stan’s sides and pulling Stan back down - all the while looking at him like his mouth was about to start watering._

_Hands gripped his ass again, over the lacy material of his underwear, and Bill groaned - smacking his open mouth against Stan’s._

_In a new burst of confidence, Stan moved one of his hands from Bill’s chest to his obvious boner, barely tracing his palm against it._

_“Stan, princess-,” Bill gasped, only encouraging him._

_Stan pulled away from Bill, pulling his legs off from around him, biting his lip in contemplation._

_“What’s your color?” He asked, now on his knees and leaning in toward Bill between his legs._

_“Wh-what?” Bill asked, his head thrown back against the seat and his chest puffing out as he breathed._

_“Your color. Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go,” Stan explained - having seen something about this in an article from Cosmopolitan probably titled something about safe and consensual sex._

_“Fucking green, thuh-then. God, so_ fucking  _green, princess,” He stroked Stan’s hair, and Stan sat up a bit - moving to unbuckle Bill’s belt._

_“Still green?” He asked, somewhat teasingly, looking up at Bill from under his eyelashes - Bill who was now staring at him desperately._

_“Still green, juh-just fucking-,” Bill cut himself off, Stan moving to unbutton and unzip his pants._

_“Just what, sir? Tell me what you want.”_

_It was most definitely on purpose this time._

_“That pruh-pretty little mouth… That tuh-talks so fucking dirty…” He paused to run his fingers through Stan’s hair again, “On my cock. Now.”_

_Stan hummed, thoroughly satisfied with this answer, and licked his lips as he replied: “So, is Big Bill really just about the money?”_

_“I s-s-said_ now _, baby,” Bill huffed, impatience clearly growing - so Stan cut the crap, finally pulling Bill’s boxers down to reveal-_

 _“So?” Bill smirked, and Stan couldn’t help but think he sounded like_ such _a fuckboy, “Nickname o-or no?”_

_Stan simply bit his bottom lip and shook his head back and forth, inching closer to lick a stripe up the bottom side - looking up to Bill with wide eyes as he did so. He moaned, eyes fluttering closed for a moment, twisting his fingers into the curls at the back of Stan’s head._

_Stan didn’t waste any more time - watching Bill carefully as he started to take more of him in his mouth. Bill’s eyes screwed shut on occasion - especially when Stan stopped to lick the tip - and Stan loved this to say the least. Loving hearing the encouraging remarks escape his lips: “Oh, baby, you’re d-doing so good - ‘feels s-s-so good…” as well as the downright dirty ones: “You l-look so beautiful with my cock in your m-mouth, princess.” Stan even sort of liked it when Bill thrust up or pushed down on his head, groans as his soundtrack._

_“Fuck, I-I-I’m gonna-,”_

_Trails of saliva connected Stan to Bill’s dick as he pulled away, beginning instead to pump from base to tip with his right hand, wiping at his mouth with his left - ignoring the unpleasant feeling of spit on his skin._

_“Are you gonna cum for me, sir?” He batted his eyelashes for effect, beginning to kitten lick the head of Bill’s cock again._

_“Yuh-yes, princess,” Bill’s hips bucked forward into Stan’s mouth, his eyes closed - Stan resuming his motions of bobbing his head up and down and watching Bill throw his head back in pleasure._

_Within a minute, Bill’s fingers were tugging harder on his curls and he let out a final, prolonged moan, releasing into the warmth of Stan’s mouth - Stan surprising himself when he swallowed._

Spitters are quitters, Stan the Man! _Richie’s voice rang in his head._

_Bill was surprised, too, apparently, watching Stan swallow._

_“You fucking s-swallow? That was s-s-so hot.”_

_Fast forward, they had to go home after that - Stan’s makeup far too messed up and his dress ripped up one side. He had pouted about this for only a moment, before Bill pecked the corner of his mouth and assured him he would gladly buy him a million more if it would make him happy._

Okay, well, that memory certainly didn’t help anything. Stan sighed - he knew he didn’t have any time before work to ‘jerk one out’ - as Richie called it - so he went to get a cold glass of water from his kitchen.

He turned the tap.

Nothing.

So, maybe Bill was right. Maybe he did need a new place.

But for now, he filled his glass from the sink in the bathroom, instead. A decision would be made a later day.

He begrudgingly changed into his work clothes - he knew he didn’t want to go. He would much rather stay home and think about Bill and, honestly, masturbate.

Not to mention he knew Beverly was going to grill him on his growing absences.

Thirty minutes later, as he gingerly walked into the Applebee’s, his theory was proved correct.

“So,” Beverly crossed her arms in front of him, “Is there a reason you’ve cancelled every other shift this week?”

Stan didn’t know how to say  _‘No, no reason. I just didn’t feel like it, and now there’s a handsome man paying my bills - who would, at the same time, happily buy me anything I asked for - so I don’t even really have to work here anymore, anyway.’_  without sounding like a total prick, so he just shrugged.

It’s not that he didn’t feel bad - that’s the whole reason he hadn’t quit yet. He felt bad. He knew Beverly was busier without him. Busy taking half the restaurant’s orders meanwhile training the new employee.

“Beverly, where should I-,” A boy with chocolate curls approached the fiery redhead - curls Stan knew all too well, so well that his mouth was moving before his brain could stop it.

“Eddie?” His eyebrows stitched together.

Beverly responded before Eddie could, looking between the two of them quizzically. “You two know each other?”

Eddie opened his mouth to speak again - but Stan was too fast.

“ _Oh_ , haha!” He faked, nervous, “We live in the same apartment complex! I’ve met him quite a few times while… While getting my mail. It’s a shame I’m moving soon! Won’t be able to see you so often, Eddie!”

“You’re moving?” Bev inquired, “Since when did you even have the money to-,” She cut herself off with a sigh, shaking her head, “It’s just - Jesus, Stanley, it’s like you don’t tell us anything anymore.”

She walked away after that, and Stan avoided crossing paths with her for the rest of his shift.

He elected, instead, to talk to Eddie - who was bombarding him with questions.

“Did you call him? What’s the story? What did he say?”

Stan tried to answer as vaguely as possible. “Yeah, I called him. We’ve been on a couple dates, nothing too much,” He lied, “He’s nice. I like him.” Not a lie.

Eddie didn’t pester him too much about it after this and four hours later, he was clocking out with a sigh and making his way to his car. He knew he’d dug himself in with telling Beverly he was moving - because Beverly would tell Ben, and word would get around to Richie, and suddenly they’d be expecting him to drop his new address or expect to drive by his apartments and not see his car there.

Stan sighed. He had one option.

 _It’s not like you don’t want to move out anyway_ , he told himself,  _half of your appliances don’t work and your landlord refuses to do anything about it._

Stan tapped the call button next to Bill’s name as he walked into his home, holding the phone to his ear and looking around.

“Hi babe,” Bill greeted in that strained voice - Stan could tell he was still at his office.

“Hiii, baby, so listen-,” Stan cooed, trying especially hard to play it up, though Bill had already offered him the opportunity, “Remember earlier this week when we were talking about how horrible my apartment is and how I should move in with you?”

Bill hummed in response, and Stan could almost see him nodding his head.

“And I sort of told you I’d think about it? Well, I thought about it, and… yeah.”

“Sarah, could you excuse me for a moment? I’m having a word,” Bill’s voice was distant from the phone, assumedly talking to his assistant. A moment passed, and then Bill was talking again, to him this time. “Ruh-really?” He sounded excited, Stan judged, “You don’t think it’s tuh-t-too early? I just - my house is ruh-really big, it gets luh-l-lonely by myself, sometimes-,” He rambled, and Stan laughed.

So Stan made arrangements with his landlord, and when Sunday - moving day - rolled around, he called Bill.

“I’ll send s-some movers,” Bill had replied when Stan asked for help.

“But I want you to help,” Stan tried to insinuate, apparently failing.

“I am helping,” Bill answered, sounding confused, “I just said I’ll suh-send some movers.”

“Oh my god,” Stan rolled his eyes, “I want an excuse to see you, dumbass.”

So Bill came over ( _drove all by himself_ , Stan remarked in his mind with a snicker) and they were now stood in Stan’s small living room, looking around at his things.

“Stan…” Bill started, looking at Stan with something akin to pity smudged over his perfect features, “You’re nuh-not really…  _keeping_ all of th-this, are you?”

Stan frowned, turning to face Bill for a minute. “I worked hard for this stuff, Bill,” He looked around the room again, hands on his hips, “Yes, I want to keep it.”

“It’s just a luh-l-little…” Bill trailed off, pressing his lips together, seemingly trying to find the right word. “Distasteful?” He raised his eyebrows. “Like, I just d-don’t know how you live like this.”

Stan looked at him, offended - and a bit frustrated that Bill was turning his nose up at things he’d poured hours of work into getting.

“Fine, then,” Stan shrugged bitterly, “Don’t help me, just leave if you’re going to insult the things I sold literal hours of my life for.” He turned back to looking at his couch. He didn’t see anything wrong with it. He crossed his arms.

“No no no, baby,” He heard footsteps shuffle toward him from behind and felt Bill’s arms encircle around his waist, his mouth now leeching onto Stan’s neck. “You’ll realize, s-soon, what I mean. I puh-plan on showing you all the finer things in life. A whole new world, if you will. Maybe in m-m-more ways than one,” He chuckled, “Buh-but if these really do mean so much to you, then I’ll get a st-storage unit for them. I just want you to be h-happy - that’s what’s really priceless.”

In response, Stan simply moved his head further to the side to make more room for Bill’s mouth.

Some hours later, Stan and Bill stood under the sun, fingers loosely intertwined, watching the moving men carry in a few boxes filled with Stan’s clothes and things from his apartment that he might need.

Stan looked up at Bill’s house. Sure, he’d been here before a couple times - but never enough to actually  _look_  at it. It was big, lavish, and undoubtedly expensive - everything about Bill seemed to be.

_Well. This is home now - indefinitely, maybe, but home._


	6. six: thinking about the b word

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen…. all the fluff in this chapter was inspired by @tea-cherry who is also my fav so give them all ur love please and thank u  
> ill tag it and shit and connect it to chapter 5 tomorrow i just wanna get it up tonight asjsfnsg  
> (also this shit is over 11k words i worked on this all fucking week i told yall it was gonna be good)

Getting used to living with Bill wasn’t as difficult as Stan would’ve thought - so used to having his own space to do as he pleased.

But he found Bill was rather respectful of his space - and worked most days anyway, so Stan had ample amount of time for himself between getting home from campus and Bill coming home. Bill never did anything Stan didn’t want him to, or anything that bothered Stan, or got mad when Stan would continuously pick up and tidy Bill’s room - well, their room, now, he supposed.

(Bill had ‘forgotten’ to get him his own bed and somehow only had one other in the house - small and reserved for his little brother when he visited. “G-guess you’ll just huh-have to sleep with me.” Stan had rolled his eyes at the lame excuse, but didn’t argue.)

“We have a muh-maid, you know,” He would remind gently, “You d-don’t have to do that.”

The first few times it happened Stan had shrugged, saying, “Why make more work for her then? She already has a million other things to clean in this place, it’s the least I can do.”

But these responses were getting less frequent the longer he stayed - electing instead to do his homework, pleased with how neat it looked whenever he returned.

Bill’s schedule wasn’t hard to become accustomed to, either - and though it wasn’t always as consistent as Stan would hope, or thorough, he accepted it.

It usually began with feeling the arms looped around his waist recede in the earlier hours of the morning, faint music echoing throughout the house (Inquiring about this phenomena was how Stan learned Bill worked out most mornings before work), the music shutting off within the hour and hearing Bill return to the room, showering, kissing him on the forehead, and leaving for work - returning home usually around six in the evening.

There came one morning that Bill had grumbled in response to his alarm going off, turning it off and nuzzling his head further into the back of Stan’s neck, pulling him closer. A giggle bubbled out as Bill’s hair tickled him, and Stan turned (a bit awkwardly) in Bill’s arms to face him.

“Good morning,” Stan whispered, a soft smile set on his features despite how early it was.

Bill had kept his eyes close, grumbling again in response, arms tightening around Stan’s waist once again. Stan leaned up and over slightly, and kissed him on the tip of his nose.

Bill hummed before his eyes began to flutter open - blue irises piercing Stan like the first time. He swooned.

“‘Mmm-morning,” He spoke slowly, voice low and raspy. Stan loved Bill’s morning voice.

“Don’t you have to work out?” Stan quirked his eyebrow just as Bill closed his eyes again. He let out a breathy chuckle.

“I sh-sh- _should_ , but I don’t wah-hant to.”

“I can help,” Stan offered, but Bill shook his head.

“Nn-mm,” He hummed, “You have cuh-classes, you should guh-go back to sleep, princess.”

But Stan was already whooshing the blankets off of them and getting up, “Nope. Let’s go. No slacking,” He pretended to coach, a playful grin making its way onto his face.

“Staaaan,” Bill groaned groggily, “It’s cuh-c-cold, don’t d-do this,” He laughed.

“Get up! We’re going to work out,” Stan enthused, digging around in Bill’s drawers for exercise wear. Wow, he owned a lot of Nike.

He tossed him a pair of bright green basketball shorts and a white tank top - pulling a red t-shirt out of Bill’s top drawer and throwing it over his own bare chest. It was big on him - Bill being taller and having broader shoulders - but it would do for the morning.

“You’re guh-gonna work out with me?” Bill asked, humorously incredulous as he rubbed his eyes - pulling on the clothes Stan had thrown to him.

“No,” Stan rolled his eyes as if it were obvious. It was 5 am and he’d never liked any physical activity that wasn’t baseball when he was younger or dancing and gymnastics, “I’m  _motivation_ ,” He smirked as Bill finished lacing his sneakers and was now standing in front of him, hands on his boxer-clad hips under Bill’s big t-shirt.

“You look suh-so pretty in my clothes.”

When he leaned in for a kiss, Stan pulled his head back - laughing when Bill made a pouty face at him.

“That’s part of the motivation! You can’t cheat!” He laughed, swatting at Bill’s chest and ducking out from under his hold. “Lead the way, Denbrough.”

Bill let out a dramatized sigh. “You’re suh-so mean to me. Won’t even give m-me a good morning kiss,” He whined, walking past Stan to the door.

Stan followed him out the door and down a couple hallways and staircases until they reached what was presumably the basement - Bill also had forgotten to ever give Stan the grand tour.

The particular room they were in was lined with shelves holding weights, and there were a few machines - the only ones Stan recognized being the bike, treadmill, and elliptical - completed with mats lining the floor.

“S-s-so how’s this going to work?” Bill raised his eyes expectantly at Stan - who felt pretty stupid by this point. He didn’t know what half of this stuff was even  _for_.

“Uh,” Stan let out a breathy laugh, “See - I was kind of going for that cliché thing, like they do in movies?” He confessed, cheeks going pink, “Like, you do push-ups or sit ups and I lay under you or sit over you and we get to kiss when you come up.”

Bill seemed to find this an acceptable motivation, as he nodded thoughtfully and motioned for Stan to follow him to a mat.

“Sit ups or p-push ups?”

“Push ups,” Stan answered, a bit unsurely, but lying down anyway.

Bill sat over him at first before getting into position - hands on both sides of the mat around his head.

It was cute at first - the whole ordeal. Stan counted for Bill, announcing the number after each meeting of their lips, and they were both giggling - but they only lasted 34 reps before it broke out into a make out session, Bill sitting up on his knees so he was straddling Stan.  _Well, this is new_.

Both of their lips swollen and cheeks dusted rose, they agreed to let Bill finish his workout before any continuing was done.

And this was how Stan managed to develop a sort of fetish for Bill’s arms. He didn’t see him sleeveless and doing any heavy lifting very often, but now that he was - he took mental notes.

He had never noticed how tanned and muscular Bill’s biceps were, or how the veins in his forearm protruded just enough to be sexy.  _Is it hot in here?_

Bill eventually finished - and Stan was plenty hot and bothered already without Bill winking at him and remarking, “Enjuh-joy the show?”

They each managed to scramble upstairs and to their bedroom before they were on each other - Stan’s legs wrapped around Bill’s waist as his hips were gripped hard and he was held against the back of the door.

Stan’s hands were busy holding Bill’s face to his, moaning into Bill’s mouth when their hips ground together.

“Bed,” Stan had mumbled against the other pair of lips, tangling his hands into sweaty hair - only grimacing on the inside at the feeling.

Bill lifted him again from the door, stumbling the two of them to the bed and effectively falling on top of Stan, making them both burst out into excited laughs.

“Stan,” Bill breathed into his mouth after they attained a more comfortable position, Stan pinned under Bill. He pulled away, looking down into Stan’s eyes. Stan felt like he was trying to look into his soul - and with those eyes, he’d let him. “Are y-uh-you a virgin? ‘C-cause if th-that’s why we n-n-never go past blowing each other, I wuh-want you to know I want t-to wait until you’re ready.”

Stan suddenly found himself avoiding eye contact, feeling the heat of embarrassment color his cheeks. He ran his hands up and down Bill’s bare arms distractedly. “Not- Not a virgin, per se, but… I kind of haven’t slept with anyone since I was eighteen,” He forced, speaking quickly, “I- I- It’s not like I don’t… do things… with myself - but-,”

Bill gently grabbed Stan’s chin, pulling his head forward to look at him. He was wearing the dumbest smirk, with that stupid eyebrow raise that made Stan know what was coming.

“C-can a guy get suh-some elaboration on that?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Don’t tell me you want a demonstration to go with that,” He remarked sarcastically before realizing his mistake - as Bill’s smirk only grew and both eyebrows were then raised.

Stan thought for a minute.  _It’s only Bill._

“Okay,” Stan shrugged, “But you’ll have to get off of me.”

Bill looked shocked for just a minute before clumsily rolling off of Stan - the latter suddenly growing insecure with Bill watching him intently as he worked the large red shirt off, left once again in his boxers.

He bit his lip and turned to face Bill again as his stomach churned. Bill had sat up now, and was watching Stan with lust-riddled fascination - though Stan knew it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

“So, I, uh,” Stan fumbled, feeling suddenly very new to the situation, “I usually start with this, I guess,” He chuckled slightly, trying to lighten the mood somehow, before moving his hand down to the bulge that was forming in his boxers, beginning to palm himself. He closed his eyes at the sensation of the friction and then tried to pretend this was normal - like he was laying on his back and was alone in a room and there was nobody watching him and that he wasn’t  _narrating getting himself off_.

“And then I - I take these off,” Stan continued, laughing half-heartedly at his awkwardness and he sat down to pull his boxers down his legs, throwing them down to the floor before resuming his kneeling position. “And I,” Stan paused to close his eyes again, “I s-start to… y’know…” He couldn’t manage to get the words out, already slowly pumping his hand up and down his shaft, leaning his head back again.

His bit his lip before his eyes blinked open and he found himself looking at the ceiling.

“Shit, I forgot the-,” He cut himself off, stopping and getting up. If he thought he felt awkward before, it was definitely intensified tenfold now.

Nonetheless, he went to his sock drawer - completely naked - and pulled up the second pair to the left in the back row, grabbing the purple bottle he was looking for out from under them.

He made eye contact with Bill on his way back to the bed - something he’d been avoiding - and saw Bill’s face flushed just as red as his own probably was, lips fallen open, and hard-on extremely obvious in his basketball shorts.

Crawling back up on the bed, he tried to lighten the mood once again, flashing a brief smile with a breathy, “Now, where was I?” He resumed his position and uncapped the bottle, squeezing some of the lube onto his hand.

“Um, this is, uh, special lube, I guess- that I- I like. It heats up the more you rub it, and it, uh, I like that.”

His eyes fluttered shut involuntarily as he went about touching himself again; rubbing the small amount of lube he had on his palm around his cock.

“S-Stan, I-,” Bill tried to interject, but Stan shook his head.

“‘M not done,” He breathed, almost not really believing he was doing this.

He felt beside him for the bottle again - this time squeezing some out onto his fingertips before bending himself over, half unsurely, so that his ass was in the air.

“I-,” He rubbed the lube around with his finger onto himself, almost teasingly, trying to get ready, “I like to start slow…” He pushed one finger into himself, inhaling sharply as he began working it in and out.

Bill let a loud groan, and the bed shifted as he felt him move closer. “I-is this what you do wh-wh-when I’m not home? C-c- _christ_ , Stan…” Stan felt hands on his ass, starting to roam there as well as his thighs - before he felt kisses being lightly planted as well.

Stan didn’t stop his finger the whole time, and let out a moan he’d been holding back when Bill started sucking a hickey onto his inner thigh.

“Luh-let me, baby,” He heard Bill mumble, and he slowly removed his hand from the region completely - letting Bill take over.

He had expected the emptiness to be replaced with Bill’s finger, and let out a loud gasp of shock when Bill pressed his tongue to his hole instead.

“Have you ev-ever been rimmed, princess?” Bill asked, back to pressing kisses to Stan’s ass and rubbing his thighs in an agonizingly teasing manner.

“No,” Stan breathed, wishing Bill would do it again.

“D-do you want to be?”

“Yes,” Stan answered, so much plea in his voice that he was nearly begging.

Bill glided fingers lightly across the creases been Stan’s ass and thighs, making him shiver. “Hmm? I d-didn’t catch that, precious.”

“Yes, sir, please,” Stan begged, raising his voice slightly, “ _Please_.”

And that was all it took for Bill to squeeze some lube onto his own finger and push it into Stan, licking and kissing all the way - eliciting moans from the boy underneath him.

Stan’s moans became even louder when Bill worked another finger in, stretching him a bit farther - but it was really all over when Bill reached around and started pumping his dick. Stan’s front half was already fully collapsed onto the bed, blissed out so badly his arms had shakily given out - and he had almost had to bite the sheets when he came, moaning louder than he possibly ever had before.

He collapsed almost thoroughly onto the bed as Bill pulled away.

“So - sh-shower?” He quirked an eyebrow at Stan, knowing him well, already stripping.

Stan sighed, content, breathing slowing. “You’re late for work,” He stated, catching glimpse of the time from the set box of the TV.

“W-worth it,” Bill chuckled, and Stan almost did the same as he watched his…  _boyfriend?_  walk, bare-ass-out, to the bathroom door. “Coming?”

Stan pulled himself up, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll blow you in there,” He shrugged, referencing Bill’s still-hard-on.

“D-duh-double worth it.”

But it had been a few weeks since that, and right now, Stan was cuddled up against Bill, the two of them having decided to have a lazy Sunday together.

It was cute, and Stan thought back to just that morning. He and Bill had made breakfast together in their pajamas - or at least, they tried. When Bill burnt the last pancake of the batter they had made, they had his personal chef just do it for them. He teased Bill about it over breakfast, and then they did nothing for the rest of the day up to that point - just laying on each other and watching movie after movie. There were on their second now - The Babadook. Bill was a lot more of a scaredy-cat than he led on to be, jumping and burying his head into Stan’s side at anything remotely scary. Stan not so much, electing instead to take digs at the plot.

“Come on, that one wasn’t even scary!”

“She kuh-k-killed the dog! You duh-don’t think that’s scary?”

“More of a cat person myself.”

“Stan!” Bill laughed, probably appalled Stan would shrug that off.

“What! It’s the truth!” Stan laughed back just as his phone buzzed on the cushion beside them.

He reached for it, frowning when he read the text on the screen. It was from Ben.

“Hmm?” Bill inquired, leaning over to see Stan’s phone screen.

‘ _Hey Stan! Me and Beverly miss you a lot. I think even Richie is going through Stanley-withdraw, though we’ve seen him about as much as we’ve seen you. But anyway, there’s a party tonight that Bev has been talking about, if you’re interested. Mike is going, and Beverly told me to tell you that with a winky face, so ;). Let us know if you can make it!_ ’ Stan read after unlocking the device. Bill, apparently, had also read - as he asked:

“Who-who’s Mike?” Not accusingly, but there was edge in his voice. Edge Stan couldn’t say he recognized.

“A co-worker I almost had a thing with,” Stan answered dismissively, “It was before we met.” He half-lied. “He’s just a friend now.”

Bill humphed in response, nuzzling his head back into the crook of Stan’s neck again.

Stan typed back his response, a simple  _‘No, thank you. I have plans tonight - tell everyone I said hi._ ’

Ben’s reply came almost instantly, and Stan sighed. ‘ _We miss you :(_ ‘

Stan didn’t get a chance to respond, Bill shifting and complaining, “I’m huh-hungry, let’s go eat again.”

Stan didn’t refuse.

But he did refuse to talk to Ben or Beverly or Richie on campus at all for most of the next week. He avoided them in the lectures they shared - sitting away from them on purpose and bee lining for his (Well, Bill’s, since he’d taken a liking to the Ferrari and Bill had shrugged, tossing him the keys) car every time. He didn’t want to admit he felt Beverly staring at him every time he did this.

“I’m thinking about quitting,” Stan had announced to Bill over their dinner on Wednesday as he stirred his soup, waiting for it to cool down. “Y’know, Applebee’s. What do you think?”

Bill coughed, laughing too suddenly while trying to swallow a gulp of water. “I’m suh-sorry - I thought you alruh-ready quit. Like, two and a half m-months ago, when you moved in with me. I th-think it’s a great idea.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “Well I had to do something while you were at work at first - I got bored.”

“We nuh-need to get you some other sh-sugar baby friends to hang out with,” Bill joked, and Stan lifted his spoon to his mouth before replying.

“Or a cat.”

“Or a d-dog!”

So the next day, Stan went to the restaurant for the first time that week - but not to work. He had his notice held tightly, anxiously in his hands, and was trying to make it to the manager’s office unseen.

He thought he had it in the bag until Beverly cornered him in the hallway outside the kitchen.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Stanley? So first you start avoiding us and now - if you’re doing what I think you’re doing-,” She fumed, grabbing the papers from his hands.

Stan was silent as her eyes scanned over the pages.

She didn’t look back up at him as she shoved the papers back into his hands.

“I have to go  _work_.” And with that, she stormed off back into the kitchen.

Stan looked down at the papers in his hands again, now slightly rumpled. He frowned and tried to smooth them out again.

He gulped, but proceeded to the manager’s office.  _Frankly, Bev, I don’t give a fuck if it makes you mad that I’m quitting,_  he told himself,  _I have a hot boyfriend that wants to take care of me constantly and would buy me anything I wanted. This job could go to someone who needs it._

But there was that word again.  _Boyfriend._  It echoed in Stan’s mind,  _boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend._

He reminded himself to think about that later, though - taking a deep breath before knocking on the door of the office. He had other things he needed to focus on at the moment.

So Stan sat in bed Friday afternoon and contemplated it.  _Boyfriend._

He thought about himself, and about Bill, and about everything between them. He didn’t get far before Bill’s words floated back to his mind.

_“…I want t-to wait until you’re ready.”_

Stan checked the time - it was just approaching three o’clock. He had plenty of time before Bill would be home from work…

So, swinging his keys around his finger, Stan went out to  _run some errands_ , end results of this spree being a lighter, a boat-load of candles, a bucket of rose petals, a bag inconspicuously dressed but that Stan knew was from a sex shop, and a Victoria’s secret bag that he was sure people gave him looks for holding.

He checked the time again when he got home - it was creeping around five thirty and Stan figured that might give him just enough time to get ready. Prior to showering, he opened the bag from the sex shop and pulled out the butt plug. It wasn’t anything over the top, it was rather plain looking, actually - but Stan washed it in the dishwasher while he set out the rose petals anyway.

As he scattered them across the bed and the floor of the room, he considered who he was really doing this for - and his answer came up Bill. Bill was hopeless romantic,  _let-me-woo-you_ kind of guy - Stan chuckled to himself as he considered himself and his current lifestyle as proof of that.

Maybe he could do the wooing tonight.

When the rose petals were spread out to his satisfaction, he went about setting the candles in places he thought would create the best ambiance once they were lit - thankful he had inherited his mother’s eye for these kinds of things.

He’s sighed after this - knowing what he had to do now. Retrieving his plug from the washer, he reveled in its sanitization before looking at the time. Six o’clock. An hour or so until Bill would be home.

_Am I really going to keep this in my ass for an entire hour?_

He’d worked himself so up into his perfectionist state of mind that he’d forgot he was actually going to have to masturbate to get it in until he reached the bedroom.

He stared down at the object held loosely in between his slender fingers, his mouth forming a line. He knew stretching was necessary, and he sort of didn’t want to waste any time with fingers when he and Bill got around to things - wanted to get it over with. God, he might as well be a virgin, this was ridiculous.

He huffed again, grabbing the lube from his sock drawer. Hopefully Bill didn’t come home earlier than expected.

Forty minutes later Stan was drying his hair - lacy, red panties on along with a small, silk red robe to match. He didn’t go all out this time, exactly - maybe he would save that for another day if Bill was lucky.

He was checking his lip-gloss when he heard the front door open from downstairs, and he was startled - throwing his gaze around the room to make sure one last time that it all looked right. He took a deep breath as he realized it did, to calm his nerves and the zoo that was unleashed in his stomach, scampering into the hallway.

Stan knew Bill went straight to his office upon getting home, so he could put down his things. It was part of Stan’s evening routine to greet him in the doorway - but never, before, like this.

Bill’s back was to him, as he was stuffing some papers into a filing cabinet. He sighed loudly, putting his hand up to his forehead in an exasperated manner.

“Hello,” Stan tried to sound sexy but swiftly realized it didn’t sound right rolling off of his tongue.

Bill didn’t turn around. “Hey, b-baby,” He answered, attention focused back on the drawer. “Is d-dinner started, do you kn-know? I’m stuh-starving.”

“Uh, I don’t - I don’t know,” Stan fumbled, growing increasingly embarrassed as well as frustrated. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.

“Oh,” was all Bill replied. Stan frowned a deep frown and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” He crossed his silk-dressed arms across his chest.

Bill’s head rose for a minute, and he seemed thoughtfully quiet, and Stan hoped he had caught on - but was immediately let down by his response.

“I duh-don’t think so. Is ev-verything alright? You s-s-sound upset.”

Stan huffed, walking further into the room, “Oh my  _god_ , Bill, just turn around already!”

“Stan, luh-listen, I’ve had a rough d-day, I’m tired-,” Bill went to excuse, dropping the papers in the open cabinet and turning around, cutting himself off when his eyes finally landed on Stan - mouth falling open. “Uh-uh- _oh_ ,” Being the only word he got out, staring at Stan now like his mouth was going to start watering any second.

Stan gingerly walked the few meters that still separated them; playing with Bill’s tie once he was close enough. “This was,” He paused to laugh at them, “Supposed to go a lot sexier. It did in my head, at least, but-,” He took another, final deep breath, “Come upstairs.”

He twisted his fingers lightly around a stunned-silent Bill’s and lead him to the staircase, as well as all the way up and down the hallway that lead to their room. Stan’s bare feet padded much lighter than Bill’s, and he stopped in front of the doorway - the door closed.

“Go in,” Stan prompted, trying not to sound too giddy - after all, he’d been waiting on seeing Bill’s reaction all day.

He watched as Bill gave him a curious look before pushing the door open - the candlelight pouring into the hallway.

Bill stood and looked in what seemed like awe, and Stan rolled his eyes, smiling, and grabbed his hand - leading him again, into the room.

“Whuh-whuh-what’s this all about?” Bill asked as Stan closed the door behind him, approaching him again and beginning to take off his tie.

“You said you wanted to wait until I was ready,” He spoke just above a whisper - it somehow coming out more seductive than when he tried to sound it. He finished with the tie and leaned up on his tiptoes to Bill’s ear. “I’m ready.”

“Are you sh-sh-sure?” Bill placed his hands on Stan’s hips gently, tracing circles into his skin with the pads of his thumbs.

“Yes,” Stan breathed, a sudden urge washing over him to just do it already. He was getting tired of waiting. “Yes, I’m sure.”

That seemed to be all Bill needed, as his lips were on Stan’s in a millisecond, and Stan was tugging Bill’s shirt out from his pants hastily - all the while both of them backing clumsily to the bed.

They landed with a soft  _whoosh_ , rose petals that laid there flying up from the impact. Stan took a shot in the dark and groped at Bill from over his pants, Bill whimpering into his mouth.

Stan, somehow, wriggled out from Bill’s grip, adjusting himself so that he was straddling Bill - a position he’d grown very accustomed to, the familiarity easing any nerves that were left.

Stan ground his hips down deliberately, feeling Bill’s boner very prominent between his pants and the thin panties that separated them. Bill groaned again, Stan moving to plant small kisses down his neck.

“Do you like that, baby? Do you want me to touch you?” Stan disconnected again, sitting up and focusing on popping Bill’s shirt buttons open - sliding it down his arms when he was finished. He ran his hand down Bill’s silky skin, admiring the faint definition of his abs that the shadow of candlelight seemed to intensify. “You’re so beautiful, Bill…”

“Fuck,” Bill groaned, and Stan heard him kick his shoes to the floor, “You d-d-don’t know what you do to me, St-Stanley Uris.”

Stan smirked, licking his lips. Leaning back in to Bill’s ear, he whispered, “I guess it’s time I find out then, isn’t it?”

He shrugged off his robe before he reached down to Bill’s belt buckle, fiddling with it before he felt it loosen underneath his hands, then going in for Bill’s button.

He got off only for a moment to grab the condom and lube he had left on his dresser earlier, and by the time he returned Bill had discarded his pants as well as his boxers and was sitting against the headboard of their bed. Stan set them on the bedside table, within reach, electing to sit over Bill’s legs - leaning down so he was level with Bill’s cock and placing a teasing lick on the tip - Bill’s hiss sounding like music to his ears. He pumped his hand up his shaft, palming at himself in the meantime.

Bill’s hands came around to the sides of Stan’s face and back to his hair, tugging up softly. Stan obliged, sitting up and leaning in to the kiss.

“N-no head,” He mumbled into Stan’s lips desperately, “Wuh-w-wanna feel you.”

“Someone’s eager,” Stan mused - grateful for the spur of confidence that allowed him to act like this.

Bill set his hands on his waist again, gripping hard as he grinded up into Stan - there being  _extremely_ little separating them now.

“These are s-s-so pretty,” Bill commented, hooking his fingers into the lacy material of Stan’s underwear, “b-but if you don’t take th-them off in the next fifteen sec-conds, I might ruh-r-rip them off of you.”

Stan didn’t doubt Bill’s seriousness, and so sat up for a moment and pulled them down his long legs, straddling Bill once again after - who was now tearing the condom open and rolling it on.

“We n-n-need to get ready,” Bill tried to instruct, but Stan pushed on his chest lightly with his hand.

“Ahead of you,” he remarked, hand gripping tightly to Bill’s shoulder as he removed the plug, cringing at the empty feeling but knowing it would be replaced with Bill in a matter of minutes.

“Jee-jesus fuck,” Bill breathed, stroking himself over the condom at the sight - or maybe rubbing on lube. Stan wasn’t sure - the only thing he was sure of was that he wanted this, and he wanted it bad.

“I’m ready,” Stan repeated his words from earlier, wasting no time in placing himself over Bill’s dick.

Bill rubbed the tip just against him before asking, “Are y-you sure?”

“ _God, yes_ ,” Stan breathed, eyes fluttering closed in anticipation, feeling Bill pressed to his entrance. “I want this so badly. I want you. I  _need_  you. ‘Need to feel you deep inside me.. Need to feel how good your big cock stretches me, how full you make me feel…” He started purring in Bill’s ear at this point, hands still on Bill’s shoulders. “ _So fucking give it to me already_.”

“So fuck-fucking naughty… D-dirty little fucking mouth, princess,” Bill mumbled, aligning his tip with Stan’s asshole and beginning to pull Stan’s hips down onto himself.

“Ah,” Stan hissed as Bill sunk in, the burn he felt fairly noticeable. He must not have remembered Bill’s size correctly - as he felt a lot bigger than Stan anticipated earlier when he was purchasing the plug. “Slow, slow.” He gulped.

“You’re - you’re,” Bill’s eyes kept fluttering open and closed, stopping pulling Stan down, “S-so t-t-tight, Stan, baby.  _Fuck_.”

Stan took over then, lowering himself as slowly as he needed to go, and was gripping Bill’s shoulders hard by the time he was all the way lowered onto Bill’s pelvis.

He gave it a minute before he moved again, just a little up and then down again, before he decided he was getting comfortable - getting more adventurous with each bounce.

Within minutes, he was a moaning mess on top of Bill - who’s breath was coming out in short puffs and who let out groans often.

Stan might admit to playing it up a bit - but the pleasure was genuinely there as he moaned, “You- You feel so good inside me, baby,” He felt his curls bounce with his movements and he threw his head back, “Ah- You fuck me so good, Bill, don’t stop, don’t stop- oh! - yeah!”

“You’re l-like a fucking p-p-pornstar, Stanley, baby, j-juh-jesus.” Bill moaned in response, grip on Stan’s hips tightening once again, beginning to thrust up into him.

On a particularly angled thrust, Stan was kissing from Bill’s ear to where his shoulder met his neck, when Bill hit something that caused a jolt of pleasure to shock through his body - making him yelp loudly.

“D-did I just hit your-,” Bill went to ask, but Stan was already cutting him off.

“Please, again, please,” He moaned into Bill’s neck, chasing the sensation sloppily.

So Bill thrust up a few more times - the first two missing but the third causing him to cry out again, “Bill! Right there, right there,” He pleaded, and Bill complied, thrusting at the same angle a few more times meanwhile Stan became putty in his hands, willing his eyes not to roll back into his head from pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum, baby, if you keep fucking -  _oh fuck_ ,” Stan couldn’t even manage to get the sentence out.

“M-me too, princess,” Bill instructed lowly, still caressing Stan’s prostate with every thrust. “C-cum for me.”

They were each reduced to long, loud moans as they rode out their highs together - Stan’s coming a second first and leaving him with white streaks down his chest and Bill’s coming second, holding Stan’s hips down onto himself while scrunching his eyes closed, head hitting the headboard as he threw it back with a moan.

“Oh m-my fucking god,” Bill panted as Stan rolled off of him, lying next to him lazily, “That w-was the best sex I’ve ever h-h-had.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, breathing just as heavily, feeling his forehead moist with sweat, “But I think my ass is gonna be sore tomorrow.”

“Stan?” Bill whispered, and Stan saw him turn his head to face him in his peripheral vision.

“Yeah?” He whispered in reply, looking at Bill. He was giving him a weird face - but Stan tried to commit to memory nonetheless. Remember forever the way his face looked in the gleam of the candlelight - skin glowing faintly and irises shimmering a pale blue color, cheeks flushed - growing pinker when their eyes met.

“I- I thuh-th-th-think that… That I luh-l-l-,” Bill took a deep breath, Stan knowing this meant his stutter was getting the best of him, “Neverm-mind.” He sighed, breaking eye contact to stare at the ceiling again.

“No, no,” Stan tried to prompt, “What were you gonna say?” The butterflies in his stomach fluttered as he tried to will them away.

“It’s n-n-not important, baby, I promise,” Bill gave him half a smile, “C’m-mon, let’s get cleaned up. H-how do you feel about baths?” Bill was looking at him again now, with such a soft look in his eyes it made Stan want to spend forever laying there with him, talking like this.

“‘Feels like stewing in a soup of your own filth,” Stan answered honestly. Stanley Uris didn’t like baths - he’d stopped taking them as soon as he turned seven and never looked back.

“Staaaan,” Bill whined, “I huh-have bath bombs! Think of th-he aesthetic!” He pleaded and looked so cute giving Stan puppy-dog eyes that he nearly gave in.

“Great,” Stan deadpanned instead, poker face of a champion, “I get to stew in my dirt, your dirt,  _and_  scented dissolved chalk.”

Bill moved on to playing with the fingers of Stan’s hand that was outstretched beside him, curling and uncurling them. Stan watched him pout. “You l-like my dirt,” He mumbled.

“I don’t even like  _my_  dirt - how could I like yours?” Stan laughed, turning onto his side and carding the fingers of his other hand through Bill’s hair.

“Well, fuh-for starters, you’re always b-begging me to cum on your f-,”

“Never mind, point taken,” Stan said quickly and scrunched his nose up, “My answer is still that they’re gross, no.”

Bill heaved a long, dramatic sigh. “What’s it guh-gonna take for you to get in th-that bath with me?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

“What if I w-w-wash your hair? You love it when I wash your ha-hair.” Bill looked hopefully to Stan.

“You can wash my hair in the shower like you normally do,” Stan shrugged.

“Well, damn, St-Stan!” Bill laughed, “I’ve already off-fuh-ffered you anything money can buy! I’ll d-do anything, seriously - it’d buh-be so nice and relaxing and cute.  _Pleeeease_ , Stan!”

Stan groaned. “You’re persistent, Bill Denbrough, I’ll give you that.” He rolled his eyes,  “Will you do that thing? That you do when we just lay around sometimes? The tracey-thing,” He picked up Bill’s hand, starting to trace lines down to his fingertips.

“Of course,” Bill jokingly scoffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Sold.”

“Really?” Bill perked up almost immediately, nearly jumping out of bed.

Stan pulled himself up lazily, practically dragging after Bill. “Only because I love-,” Stan choked, not believing he was going to let those words roll off of his tongue so easily. Bill turned and gave him a concerned look. “-when you wash my hair.” He finished lamely.

So they sat in the bath together for a good forty five minutes, Stan having no objection to the warm temperature or the coziness of Bill’s embrace- nearly falling asleep twice.

They had cleaned themselves off first, Bill’s fingers working gently on Stan’s scalp like he had promised, scooping up handfuls of water and rinsing the suds out when he was finished. Stan was sat with his knees pulled to his chest and his head in between them, eyes closed lightly, relaxed by Bill delicately tracing some elaborate pattern on his back - no sound between them but the water that occasionally lapped at their skin.

Stan was thinking there could not have been a better end to this night, until he remembered the candles.

His head lifted immediately upon his realization, him quickly sputtering out, “The candles! We forgot to blow the candles out!”

“It can w-w-wait-,” Bill began to say, but Stan was already splashing out of the tub and reaching for one of the towels.

“No, no, it’s a fire hazard,” Stan frowned, wrapping the towel around himself, “I don’t want to be the reason our house burns down!”

He heard Bill chuckle after him, mumbling something about “our house” as he got out to follow Stan - who was now moving around the room and blowing all the candles out. God, why had he put out so many?

 _Our house_.

The rest of the week was no exception to any other week - except there was a lot more sex and talk about it. They talked about what they liked and what they didn’t, Stan having a little bit less of a clue than Bill but not completely. Bill was simply more sexually active than Stan had been in the last few years - giving him more reign over figuring out himself. Stan appreciated it, in fact - telling Bill they could try whatever as long as it wasn’t on Stan’s list of No’s.

As it turned out, Bill liked a lot of different things. It was Tuesday morning; Bill had taken off work that day because he was tired, when they were on the couch - Bill’s head in Stan’s lap and Stan threading his fingers through his red-brown locks - talking about it.

“I luh-like when you call me sir, obv-obviously,” He chuckled, “I was r-really surprised when you first did it, actually. It suh-sort of makes me want to fuck you into oblivion.”

Stan laughed at this, prompting him to, “Go on.”

“I like sex in the sh-shower, and begging, annnnnd, hm,” Bill pursed his lips as he thought, “Ok-kay, this isn’t like an all the t-time thing, and we don’t have to if this isn’t suh-something you’re comfortable with - but I kuh-k-kind of like praise and degrading, and l-like, BDSM sort of stuff, sometimes. R-rough sex, if it fits the mood.”

He looked to Stan as if for approval, and Stan shrugged, leaning back into the couch. “I wouldn’t say I’m normally very open to trying new things, but I’ll always stop you if I don’t want to do whatever. You can call the shots. I like when you call me princess.”

They had sex every night that week, trying to figure out what they liked to do together - telling each other things they liked after every round.

Stan discovered he sort of did, actually, like be called a slut, which was weird for him. He liked this as much as he liked when Bill stroked his hair and told him how good he was doing - which Bill also liked when Stan started reciprocating his words - and he liked doing things with handcuffs, and - though he deemed it dangerous and didn’t think he would let it happen often, if he could help it - he liked shower sex.

And this was all discovered before Friday - Stan mentally remarking that they were making great time.

Friday night was Stan’s last night at work - and he dreaded it. He and Beverly were scheduled together, and he knew she would avoid him throughout the few hours they were together.

He was right.

Work wasn’t horrible, though. Mike had apparently planned him a small going away sort of celebration, which was thoughtful, though he didn’t really want to stay for it - but Bill had driven him over that night (It had suddenly become a chore to be apart from each other) and he’d told him to come at 7:30 after catching up on some of his own work, and it was only 7 now, so Stan was stuck for another half hour.

_Sigh._

Stan watched Beverly with a blank stare as she clocked out, Mike asking her as she left, “We’re doing a little thing for Stan - you don’t want to stay?”

She gave him a fake smile if Stan had ever seen one, tight lipped and not showing off her teeth like her genuine ones did. “I have to catch up on some studying. Finals, you know.”

Well, that stung.

Mike nodded in understanding and let her go, and Stan sighed - slipping into the bar where they kept the vodka.

 _There’s no way I’m doing this believingly while I’m sober_ , he told himself, taking a $20 and putting it in the register before continuing to pour himself a shot, downing it with a grimace, and then another. He hoped that would be enough to get him buzzed.

It was, he found, because by 7:15 he was giggling while Mike, Eddie, and some other coworkers sang him the Applebee’s Happy Birthday Song they were all forced to learn somewhere along the lines of working there - none of them being able to think of anything else to sing.

He had fun, granted, probably only because he was tipsy, but fun nonetheless.

“Thanks for that, Mike,” Stan smiled to Mike, who had walked him out, spotting Bill’s car waiting for him in his usual parking spot.

He leaned up on impulse, to give Mike wrap his arms around Mike’s neck in a hug and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. Stan was overly affectionate when he was intoxicated.

“It was no problem,” Mike mumbled over Stan’s shoulder as they disconnected.

Stan waved a last time, calling a “Text me!” Over his shoulder while he walked to the car.

“Hi,” Stan greeted with a wide smile as he climbed in, shutting the door beside him.

Bill didn’t say anything.

 _Well, that ends that conversation,_  Stan thought,  _Maybe he’s tired._

Bill continued not saying anything for the whole ride home - and it felt longer than it ever had before. Stan took in his tight grip on the steering wheel and the clench of his jaw and decided not to say anything else - and so they drove in silence, Stan sobering and eyes widening when Bill moved his hand to grip Stan’s thigh. Hard.

It was only when they entered the house that Stan decided to speak up.

“Is everything okay? You seem ang-,” Stan didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, being shoved roughly against the back of the door by Bill, taking him by surprise. It was more painful than sexy - as he banged his head and back up against the surface - but Bill’s lips were on his so he elected to ignore the thought of bruises that might appear later.

Confused by accepting of the attention, Stan let Bill do as he pleased - not sure what the plan was to try tonight.

He whimpered when Bill palmed at him, moving to do the same before Bill caught his hand, pinning it against the door.

“Who was th-that?” Bill leaned down to growl lowly in his ear.

Stan would’ve laughed if this had happened in any other situation - but the prospect of this was turning him on, so he refrained.

“Mike,” He answered, practically moaned as Bill continued rubbing at him through his jeans.

“Mike that l-likes you, Mike?” Bill growled again, grip on Stan’s wrist tightening.

“Y-yes,” Stan stammered, mind moving a mile and minute but simultaneously feeling like it wasn’t at all.

“Yes  _what_?” Bill’s voice was daring, like there was consequences if Stan answered wong.

“Yes, sir,” Stan’s eyes had fluttered closed, and he waited with his breath held for Bill’s next demand.

“Go get r-ready for me,” He whispered, letting go of Stan’s wrist - Stan who immediately ran to the stairway, feet thudding up it quickly and down the hall to their bedroom. He grabbed the lube from his dresser - making a mental note to buy more - and stripped, passingly thinking it was funny Bill still found him attractive in his ugly work clothes as he discarded them on the ground.

He was climbing up onto the bed and positioning himself on all fours, squeezing lube onto his fingers, when he glanced to the door and was greeted by the sight of Bill leaning against the doorway, shirtless and watching him intently - arms crossed across his chest.

Stan’s eyes caught his and Stan didn’t break the contact as he pushed a finger into himself with a hum. He worked it for a while, adding another finger every time he thought he could take it until he was at three and moaning aloud.

“Please come fuck me, sir,” He fucked himself back on his fingers again, “I wanna be so good for you.”

Bill approach, climbing onto the bed behind Stan, pulling at the hand Stan was working with - putting it back at his side. Bill rubbed his own fingers against Stan’s ass, pushing them in slightly every now and again, making Stan shiver.

“Do you know wh-who you belong to, princess?” Bill’s voice rumbled lowly behind him. “Who this tight litt-tle ass belongs to?” He pushed in two fingers finally, making Stan moan out. “Who’s  _slut_  y-you are?”

“You, sir,” Stan moaned, Bill moving his fingers in and out now, “I’m- I’m your slut,” He gulped.

Bill removed his fingers, getting up, and Stan looked back to see him unhooking his belt.

“D-did you grab a condom?” He asked, and Stan’s face turned red, memory jogging at the mention.

“I meant to tell you we needed more on the ride home,” He confessed.

Bill laughed and groaned at the same time, throwing his head back, pants halfway undone.

“We could just go without one,” Stan suggested, though he wasn’t sure of how good of a suggestion that was. He was negative for every STD - and he wanted to stay that way, “Are you positive for anything?”

“Ah-are you sure?” Bill asked, concern in his eyes. “I’ve nuh-never been positive for anything, but w-we don’t have to do anyth-thing tonight.”

“No, I-,” Stan nodded, feeling his heart swell at Bill’s caring, “I want to. It’s okay. Just use a lot of lube.” He half-smiled.

Bill nodded, and they were quiet for a minute while Bill tugged down his pants and his boxers and climbed up on the bed behind Stan again, caressing his ass. “Where w-were we?” His voice was gentle, smooth like silk.

“Nm-mm,” Stan mumbled, shaking his head, “Rough. We were being rough.”

Bill landed a harsh spank to Stan’s ass, making Stan yelp in surprise and in pain.

“Like that?” And there was the growl.

“Yes, sir,” Stan gasped, “like that.”

Bill smack Stan’s ass again, Stan only whimpering this time. “That’s for ah-outside the restaurant,” Another spank, another whimper, “And th-that’s for thinking I  _share_.”

Stan picked himself up and turned around, leaning in front of Bill now, eyes on his dick. “Can I- please,” He went to touch, Bill humming when Stan started stroking him.

Stan forgot his question as he lowered his mouth to Bill’s cock, licking just the tip before Bill grabbed him by his hair and pulled him just out of reach.

“I d-didn’t hear you ask, princess.”

“Please let me suck you off, sir, I-,” Stan reduced to begging, “I want to taste you, I want to make you feel good, please I-I…” Stan’s cheeks burned again, “I want you to fuck- fuck my mouth.”

Bill groaned, letting go of his hard grip on Stan’s hair, “That’s s-s-so hot.”

Stan dipped his head back toward Bill’s dick, grabbing his shaft and licking up, Bill lightly carding his fingers through his hair.

He gave Bill a few teasing kitten licks on his tip before starting to take him into his mouth, hollowing out his cheeks as Bill tangled his fingers into Stan’s golden locks again.

He thrust forward, not enough to choke Stan, but about as much as Stan would normally take, Stan feeling him going a little deeper each time.

“Fuh-finally, your n-naughty mouth gets fucked like it should be,” Bill breathed, throwing his head back, “You’re d-doing so guh-good, princess.”

Tears only welled in Stan’s eyes when Bill thrust back rather far before pulling out completely, spit covering the area around his mouth and trails of saliva between them.

Stan blinked them down, some of his mascara probably going with them. Bill rubbed his cheeks, expression quickly changing from lust filled and harsh to soft and caring. Stan shook his head before Bill could get a word out.

“I loved it, sir, I’m okay,” He promised, moving his hand to pump on Bill - whose eyes filled with lust again as he nodded.

“Ah-Ass up, now,” Bill grabbed for the lube beside Stan who complied with ease. “S-s-such a good little slut,” He remarked behind Stan, the smirk on his face evident in his voice.

When Bill pressed his cock to Stan’s entrance, Stan knew what to do - them having practiced this a couple nights earlier.

“Fuck me already,” He strayed from his script, mouth taking over before thoughts, “Jesus Christ, I- I’ve been waiting on this since we got home!”

Bill landed another slap to his ass, making him jolt. He felt him lean over, closer to his ear, arm snaking around Stan’s waist and hand teasingly brushing against Stan’s dick.

“Is th-that anyway way to speak to sir?” He tsked, leaning away, replacing his hands onto Stan’s hips, “But, since you’ve b-been so good, I’ll let it slide.”

Stan winced as Bill slid into him fast, not slow and inching like he usually did. The part of Stan that wasn’t focused on the pain was focused on the fact that he kind of liked that, too.

“You th-think you were waiting for this?” He growled again, “I’ve been w-w-waiting to do th-this since I saw  _Mike_  whisper in your ear. Show you wh-who you belong to.”

He began thrusting fairly harshly, though Stan knew he could be a lot rougher if he wanted to. His hands were holding Stan’s hips hard, and Stan wondered if he would have bruises by tomorrow morning.

Stan moaned loudly as he was fucked into the mattress, Bill’s groans mixing with this to create something purely pornographic - Stan loving every noise Bill made.

“Harder,” He found himself requesting, “Fuck me harder-,” He cut himself off with a gasp, Bill’s grip on his hips tightening harder as he started to pull Stan in rhythm with his thrusts, pounding in to Stan now.

“Oh, oh!” Stan cried as Bill hit his prostate (Stan was convinced he’d memorized where it was after that first night), turning to burying his face in the mattress only for a minute.

“Do you l-like that? L-like when I fuck you like a whore?” Bill taunted him, not letting up for a minute.

“Yes, sir,” Stan groaned, “I like when- when you fuck me like a whore,” He admitted.

Bill let out a  _moan,_  something Stan knew he only did when he was about to cum.

“Princess, b-baby, I’m about to-,”

“Cum in me, please,” Stan didn’t bother to filter himself at this point, pleasure taking him to a different plane of existence, “I wanna - I want your cum in me.”

“Je-jesus fuck, Stanley,” Bill nearly whined as he reach around Stan again to pump his cock.

Stan only moaned in reply, feeling his own orgasm build in his stomach, “I’m gonna- I’m gonna cum,” He breathed, eyes screwed shut.

“Go, b-baby, let go,” Bill encouraged - so Stan did, and somewhere along the lines so did Bill, as Stan felt him release into him.

They collapsed together, both breathing hard, thoroughly fucked out.

“I don’t r-really think you’re a slut,” Bill said into the silence after a couple minutes of lying there and panting, “But you are mine.”

Bill held his arms open and Stan scooted closer, looking up into the crystal blue eyes pouring into his as he nodded. He knew in the back of his mind that there was a second meaning to Bill’s words - but for now he would accept them in the romantic sense, too tired to devote any thought to, well, anything, at the moment. He simply wanted to lay with Bill and be cute and sleepy with him.

Somewhere along the lines, Bill must have pulled the covers over them - because Stan woke up to Bill snoring lightly in his ear and sun gleaming in his face through the window and, worst of all, cum  _still_  on his abdomen.

Upon this last realization, he sat up suddenly, causing Bill to stir.

“Mmf,” Bill mumbled, pulling the covers in front of his face to cover his eyes from the sun, “Stan,” Stan watched Bill feel for him blindly for him, and he swooned. It was cute, knowing Stan was Bill’s first thought in the morning.

“I’m right here, baby,” Stan cooed, “I’m just going to take a shower. Go back to sleep.”

“Nooo,” Bill whined, the tiredness evident in his voice even from behind the blanket, “Ssssleep with me.”

Stan bit back the smile that was forming, “No, I’m all disgusting - I never showered last night. We fell asleep.” He stood up, and Bill wriggled himself out of the blankets with a sigh.

“G-guess I’m showering with you, th-then,” He yawned as he started to wake up, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

Stan walked to his dresser to pull out boxers and a t-shirt, his usual Saturday-mornings-with-Bill apparel. “I’m not blowing you in there.” He half-joked.

“Wh-who said I wanted head?” Bill chuckled, “I juh-just want to take a shower wuh-wih-with you. Is that a c-crime now?”

Stan turned to find Bill out of bed now, standing in the doorway of the bathroom - back to Stan. Stan couldn’t help but giggle at Bill’s shamelessness, but he had to admit - Bill had a great ass.

Stan walked up behind him to enter their bathroom, pinching Bill’s butt as he ducked under his arm, making Bill jump.

“What sports did  _you_  play in high school?” He teased, grabbing towels and washcloths from the cabinet.

“You’re ah-asking me,” Bill smirked, pinching Stan right back and making him jump in return, “Buh-baseball. You?”

“I danced,” Stan confessed, now turning on the water to the shower, putting his hand in to test the temperature, “And took some gymnastics classes.”

“Ar-are you flexible?” Bill continued to question, “And if y-you don’t know, can I huh-help you find out?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Stan, who rolled his eyes and grabbed Bill’s hand - pulling him into the shower.

Forty minutes later they milled around their kitchen, Stan cooking eggs on the stove and Bill waiting for the toast to come out of the toaster.

It was no mystery why Bill gave the chef off on weekends - because he and Stan cooked together on weekends. Their home-cooked meals were always their least elaborate and probably worst of the week, but that was okay, because they made them together.

Bill didn’t have much of a hand for cooking, but Stan did - so Stan always made Bill sit on the counter, or serve as ingredient-giver.

So Bill was sat on the counter, waiting for the toast, while the eggs sizzled in the pan. There was a comfortable silence among them, both lost in their own thoughts, most likely. Stan was.

He thought about Bill. He thought about last weekend. He thought about the meaning of the word  _boyfriend_ and his meaning of the word.

_Boyfriend via dictionary: A male identifying person with whom one shares a romantic or sexual relationship._

_Boyfriend via Stan: Something someone has to ask you to be; something no one had asked him to be in years._

Stan traced his fingers over his left hip lightly, where he’d discovered bruises while they were in the shower earlier. Though he had hickies and liked them, this was his favorite form of being marked by Bill.

“You know I like you, right?” Stan found his mouth moving, trying to reconcile last night, something he wasn’t even really thinking about. “Not Mike.”

“Yeah, I kn-know,” Bill smiled at him as the toast popped up with a ‘ding!’ Stan looked at it and laughed.

“I thought I smelled something burning! How did you manage to burn toast? I even set the toaster for you!”

Bill laughed at himself, too, “I d-don’t know, I didn’t ev-even touch it.”

Their laughter subsided again as Bill took their nearly-charred toast onto a plate anyway, taking it to set in on the counter by Stan. He wrapped his arms around Stan’s waist, standing behind him and burying his head into Stan’s neck, placing kisses there.

 _What are we?_  Stan wanted to ask, but the eggs distracted him as he realized they were done and turned the stove off, sliding them out of the pan and onto their plates - Bill hanging onto him like a koala all the while.

A new thought popped into Stan’s mind as they each grabbed their plates and walked toward the bar (Stan’s designated place to eat breakfast, therefore Bill’s, too).

_Boyfriend via Richie’s definition: Bill, if either of you had the balls to talk about it and make anything official._

Stan smiled softly, though the actual thought scared him - but smiled softly at the thought of his best friend. He missed Richie a lot, even though just a couple months ago he was kicking Richie under the table at lunch daily. He missed all of his friends, come to think of it. He missed Richie, he missed Ben, and he missed Bev - no matter how mad they were at each other.

They ate quietly, Stan sipping his coffee and Bill sipping his orange juice. Stan wondered - in between his own thoughts - what Bill was thinking about.

“Your turn for dishes,” Stan grinned at Bill when he was finished, hopping off of his stool and taking his plate into the kitchen - listening to Bill shuffle behind him.

“Didn’t I d-do them last weekend?” He whined.

“No,” Stan laughed, “I did them for you out of the goodness of my heart.”

“Oh y-yeah,” Bill mused, taking Stan’s plate and the silverware stacked on it from his hands, “Goodness of your huh-heart my ass. I b-bought you Louboutin’s in exchange.”

“You would’ve bought them for me anyway,” Stan giggled, hopping up to sit on the counter while Bill started the water.

“Yeah, I w-would have,” Bill rolled his eyes lightheartedly.

Stan resumed his thoughts as Bill washed, listening to the clink of dishes while Bill scrubbed them.

He thought about Beverly, and he squirmed. He thought about confrontation, which he didn’t like, and fighting, which he didn’t like even more. He considered the consequences of ignoring the situation: losing all of his friends, and the consequences of confronting the situation: lying and keeping secrets he didn’t want to keep anymore.

Stan didn’t notice Bill was finished the dishes until Bill’s face was in front of his, giving him the cutest questioning look he’d ever seen. Bill was leaning on the counter, hands spread out just outside of Stan’s hips.

“Everything oh-okay?” Bill asked, “You’re usually pretty quiet duh-during breakfast, but n-never this frowny.”

Stan sighed. “I’m thinking about Bev. You know her, I’ve talked about her before,” He looked to Bill and watched him nod in understanding before he continued, “She’s mad at me for quitting, and I’ve been spending so much time with you considering we live together and she was mad about me never going to see her or any of our other friends - and I thought I could pass it off as, like, ‘Oh, that’s just Stan being Stan! Hating people and hiding himself away from the world!’ but I don’t think it’s working very well. I think she knows I’m keeping something from her.”

Bill nodded again slowly, and Stan saw a glint of sadness on his face before he blinked it away. “She d-doesn’t know about us? Nuh-none of your friends do?” He asked, “I-I’m not upset or anything,” He excused, “I j-just didn’t knuh-know that we’re a secret.”

“No, no,” Stan rushed, “I- It’s not that we’re a secret, I just- when I tell them I want to be honest, and if I’m honest, then I’ll have to tell them about the club and everything and I just,” Stan sighed, “I’m not ready to do that.”

Bill made a face Stan could only compare to the slashy emoticon, not able to find the words for it. He tried to relax him by tracing little shapes into his bare chest, passingly admiring his abs.  _Why would anyone so perfect want to be with me anyway?_

“Why don’t you talking to her?” Bill suggested, “You don’t have to tell her anything, if you don’t want to,” He continued, “But request she give you a little space while you work things out.”

It was Stan’s turn to nod, and he did, leaning in to place a gentle kiss on Bill’s freckled shoulder.

They stay like that for another few minutes, Stan with his lips pursed, still tracing onto Bill’s skin distractedly while thinking about what he would say to Beverly - Bill thinking about, well, Stan didn’t know, but he wore his heart on his sleeve and had his thoughtful expression on, so Stan knew well enough.

Placing a chaste kiss to Bill’s cheek, Stan slid down from the counter. “I’m gonna call her.”

“Good l-luck, baby,” Bill held his waist until his feet hit the floor, “I’m alw-ways here, if you need me.”

He kissed the shorter man’s forehead, Stan humming, “I know.”

With that, Stan’s bare feet were padding up the stairs and down the hall back to their bedroom to where his phone was, stomach turning in anxiety as he picked it up and selected Beverly’s contact.

He paced as he waited for her to pick up, the ringing making him wish he was dead-

“Hello?” There was suddenly a voice speaking into the phone, startling Stan. It was deadpan, not friendly or welcoming.

“We need to talk about why you’re mad.” Stan spoke seriously and deliberately, trying to keep the conversation under control.

“Oh,  _I don’t know_ , have you considered that there’s clearly something up with you that you won’t tell me even though all the time I’ve known you I’ve done nothing but consistently try to help you,” Her voice was harsh, “Let alone be around me!” She laughed bitterly, “Like, I don’t know what your issue is but you and I both know I’m not stupid, Stanley.”

Stan gritted his teeth and tried to keep his next response cool and controlled. “Maybe,” He bitterly suggested, “If you would just respect my space-,”

She cut him off. “I  _tried_! And you know what you did? Created more space! I know you text Mike! He used to ask me how you were - now I have to ask him! I don’t know why you  _and_  Richie are ignoring me and Ben, but it’s hurtful, Stan. Ben might be too kind to say anything, but I’m not.”

Stan rolled his eyes, huffing, wanting to tell her to fuck off but choosing better words instead.  “You don’t know what’s going on with me, don’t pretend to.”

“You’re _right,_  Stan! Ding ding ding! I have  _no idea_  what’s going on with you, you know why? Because you won’t fucking tell me!”

“You don’t have a right to know!” Stan lost his cool, lost his control, yelling into the receiver now. “We’re not talking about this anymore! Bye!”

And he hung up.

He rubbed his temples on the way back downstairs and into the living room - where he knew Bill would be waiting, Saturday morning cartoons glowing on the TV.

“Th-that didn’t sound like it went w-well,” Bill looked at Stan with an sympathetic expression as Stan sat next to him on the couch, pulling his legs up under him and curling into Bill’s side like a puzzle piece. Bill’s arm fit around him comfortably as he answered, “No, it didn’t.”

Bill kissed Stan’s head, Stan exhaling loudly and shutting his eyes as he snuggled just a little closer to Bill - if that was even possible.

_Boyfriend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i hope u like it i worked rlly hard on her Thanks also shes unedited so sorry if shes gross lmao


	7. seven: just wanna say you're mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know its only been like. a day and a half or so since i posted chapter six but i wrote this entire thing today and sunflower anon wanted me to post it so here it is!
> 
> i truly have no idea how i popped almost 7k coherent & story telling words out of my brain in a matter of hours but

It wasn’t like what Beverly said about Mike was wrong. She was right; Stan talked to Mike in increasing amounts - more often than he talked to anyone but Bill.

Stan found that Mike was nice to talk to, and getting to know someone was always interesting - Stan had come to favor change lately, in some aspects, at least. It was easy to talk to Mike - he always engaged Stan in conversation yet never texted Stan so much that it annoyed him. He was the perfect in-between. It helped he knew what kind of memes Stan liked and sent him them often, usually earning a chuckle and an ‘LOL.’

All in all, Stan liked being friends with Mike. Mike was a good person.

He hadn’t, however, necessarily informed Mike that he wasn’t single until around the time he moved in with Bill - and even then he didn’t tell him, just let him down gently, as he liked to think. Then again, he hadn’t told anyone, and Mike never asked. So it was okay, right? They’re not  _that_ close, anyway. Stan told himself that often.

Stan had told Mike he didn’t want to date the same week he moved in with Bill. Mike had tried to reschedule their date over a phone call, and Stan panicked inside before he found the excuse rolling off of his tongue with ease.

“I know this sounds so typical, but I can’t. I’m going through a lot of- changes… In my life right now, and I just don’t think dating is something I should add to the equation.” He had nodded at his own answer, thinking it was pretty sound, “You deserve someone who is, you know?” He schmoozed.

Mike was quick and calm with his answer - something Stan really liked about him, though he didn’t particularly favor the exact reply. “I can wait-,” Stan cringed, “Friends in the meantime?”

“Definitely,” He smiled anyway, willing that conversation to be over. And then, like that, it was, and Stan could breathe.

Stan was considering all of this on a Sunday afternoon, he and Bill curled up in their natural habitat that was their couch. Bill was watching some crime show that Stan wasn’t interested in, so he texted Mike instead - giggling every now and then at things Mike sent him.

“What d-do you keep laughing about?” Bill questioned from over his shoulder with a chuckle, “It tuh-tickles when you move.”

Stan felt Bill look over his shoulder at his phone screen while he answered. “Just Mike. ‘Sending me funny things.”

Bill hummed, sounding displeased somewhat, before turning into Stan’s neck and sucking at it like a leech.

“Stop,” Stan whined, swatting at Bill’s face from over his shoulder, trying to press his head down like someone was tickling his neck and he wanted them to quit, “I’m doing something.”

Stan felt the grip of Bill’s arms around his waist tighten and Bill grumbled, settling for laying his chin on his shoulder, “You’re only t-texting Mike.”

“Exactly - chill out.”

Bill was silent, and after Stan finished sending the text he turned his body so he was facing Bill - who was straight-faced with his jaw clenched, staring intently at the show.

Stan rolled his eyes and laughed at how bad Bill was at hiding his emotions. “Oh my god, you big baby,” He chuckled, leaning up to place kisses on Bill’s jawline - the way he knew made him turn into putty in his hands, “Don’t get jealous,” He smiled against the man’s skin.

“‘M not juh-jealous,” Bill grumbled again, unfaltering. Stan didn’t believe it - but he had to hand it to Bill, this was the best poker face yet.

Stan continued pecking light kisses down Bill’s neck - knowing he’d gotten him when Bill moved to give him more room to work with. “You have no reason to be jealous,” He purred, “You’re the only one I want, Bill, seriously.”

Bill heaved a breathy laugh, pulling away from Stan. “You m-make me feel like a suh-sex addict, don’t do that,” He laughed.

Per request, Stan stopped and laughed in return, sliding his phone in his back pocket after setting it to silent, electing to curl farther into Bill and watch his stupid crime show.

Over Thinker extraordinaire, the cogs in Stan’s mind never stopped turning, however. He thought a lot in the silent moments he and Bill shared.

He thought about telling his friends about everything a few times. Or maybe making up a lie and only coming clean about Bill. He knew Bill deserved to be known about as part of his personal life. Flashing back to the sad look that glinted across his face when Stan told him no one in his life knew about them, he knew Bill wanted that, too.

He also knew it wasn’t fair for him to just drop out of Beverly’s and Ben’s and Richie’s lives the way he did - close them off the way he did. Keep secrets the way he did.

He knew, deep down, that Beverly was right - in some aspects. While he disagreed with the way she went about it, he’s sort of glad she said something. He wanted to apologize, he did - but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know how to admit he was wrong after spending so long thinking he was right. It didn’t help that every time he tried to imagine telling her - the simulation in his mind ended with a harsh hang up and yelling. He knew he would like to avoid that for as long as possible.

He thought Richie, too. How this was the longest he’d gone without speaking to him since - well, since they’d met in kindergarten. Wow, that was weird to think about.

He missed Richie a lot, he’d concluded. He missed his annoying remarks about fucking his mom. He missed his stupid texts that woke Stan up at three in the morning on a school night about how the world was comparable to a pizza and all the different races were the toppings.

He’d even held his finger over the call button on Richie’s contact a few times - desperate to hear from his best friend. Desperate to know how he was doing, to invite him over and tell him everything.

But he was distracted by Bill every time, not calling once.

“Are you r-ready?” Bill knocked on the bathroom door. Stan put his phone down quickly, startled from the safe haven of his thoughts.

He checked his appearance in the mirror one last time, nodding and opening the door. “Yep,” He breathed, “Let’s go.”

Bill grinned and entwined their fingers, leading Stan to the car (He’d learned the lambo was indeed Bill’s favorite).

“Where are we going?” Stan asked, getting in and buckling up, hearing Bill do the same before beginning to back out.

“La Bee-Bistro,” Bill replied, “I know we’ve b-been there before, but I really l-like it.”

Stan smoothed down the blazer Bill had bought him - it was decorated with roses that stuck up out of the material, an Alexander McQueen original.

He hummed and rested his arm on the middle console, Bill doing the same, taking and stroking Stan’s hand with his thumb. Stan smiled softly.

Dinner was nice. There wasn’t sexual tension like there was at the onset of their relationship, they simply talked about the food and how their weeks were going and what was on their minds.

Stan still let Bill order for him every time - but not out of indecision anymore. Bill simply knew what Stan would like - and was never wrong. Or maybe everywhere they went just made things that catered to Stan’s taste - he didn’t know.

Bill was in the middle of talking about something about them, something Stan probably should have been paying attention to, when Stan zoned out - watching how Bill’s lips moved as he stumbled over some of his words.

He watched Bill’s eyes as he talked, one of his favorite things about Bill - watched how they flitted from one thing to another, or settled on him.

_I’m so in love with you._

“S-Stan?”

_I’m so in love with you._

“Hellooo? Stanley?” Bill’s eyebrows were knitted up and he waved a hand in front of Stan’s face with a laugh.

“What?” Stan blinked, “I zoned out, I’m sorry.” He blushed, pushing the thoughts away.

“I w-was saying -,” Bill bit his lip, “Mm, not i-important. I’ll just sh-show you.” He smiled softly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a slender, rectangular box. He slid it across the table to Stan.

“What’s this-,” Stan began to ask, but Bill cut him off.

“Oh-open it.”

Stan complied, taking the lid off the sleek black box to reveal a beautiful gold chain necklace. His lips fell open in surprise, and he grabbed at the simple pendant hanging from the center - a heart, each side made up of a different stone. He looked back to Bill, who was watching him bashfully.

“Th-they’re our birthstones,” He began to explain.

“It’s - it’s beautiful, Bill,” Stan reached across the table to lace his fingers with Bill’s, “Thank you, I,” He looked back to the necklace, “I love it. Will you put it on me?”

Bill nodded, both of them grinning widely at each other. Stan thought he could cry over how sweet the gesture was.

He could feel Bill’s breath on the back of his neck and listened to him fiddle with the clasp before finally getting on. Stan played with the pendant around his neck thoughtfully as Bill sat back down.

_I’m so in love with you._

They finished their meal, sharing small smiles and loving glances at each other, hands never leaving the other’s.

They were fairly quiet on the ride home, listening to the radio and rolling down the windows.

Stan was thinking about finals - about how he was going to have to spend the next week pulling his hair out and studying - when a familiar tune rang in his ears.

_Welcome to your life_

_There’s no turning back,_

“I love this song,” They said in what would have been unison, if Bill hadn’t stuttered on ‘this.’ Stan reached for the volume button, but Bill had his hand on the volume on the steering wheel first, turning it up.

_So glad we almost made it_

_So sad they had to fade it_

_Everybody wants to rule the world,_  they sang together, smiling wide. Stan admired the way Bill’s face illuminated in the colorful street lights as he sang.

They rolled up the driveway and into the garage as the song faded out, Bill parking the car but neither of them making moves to get out as Stan muttered, “Bill?”

They faced each other, blinking and leaning in unconsciously in the dark, Stan trying to make out as many details of Bill’s face as he could.

 _Tell him!_ His mind demanded him,  _tell him, tell him!_

“I-I,” He stuttered, trying to force the words out.

_I love you; I’m in love with you. God, I’m so in love with you. Be with me. Be mine, too. Let’s tell everyone, let’s get carried away; I don’t care. I just wanna say you’re mine, be mine. You’re mine, you’re mine._

“Yeah?” Bill whispered, breath fanning across Stan’s lips. He hadn’t realized how close they’d become - he could smell the intoxicating scent of Bill’s cologne that he wouldn’t mind smelling like forever. The tension caused by anticipation was palpable.

He couldn’t get the words out. They wouldn’t enter his mouth, staying just below his throat.

“I want to have sex if you do,” He said instead, hitting himself mentally. He didn’t even really want to have sex - he wanted to lay with Bill and talk about how in love they were and talk about how they were going to get married and adopt babies and be the best dads and have the happiest family and lead the happiest life together and grow old together and do stupid couple things for the rest of their lives and  _Christ, this is far. This is too far. How could I let it get this far?_

“O-oh,” Bill leaned back away from Stan, “Uh, yeah, if y-you want to.”

Stan gulped and they got out of the car, tension between them still as they went into the house and to their room.

They got undressed together, Bill taking a lot less time than Stan as he had no makeup to take off or nightly skin care routine.

Stan noticed Bill watching him in the bathroom from his spot on the bed, lying in his boxers. He looked comfortable, at ease.

“C-can we not, actually?” Bill spoke, catching Stan’s attention as he rinsed his face. “Have s-s-sex, I mean. I just w-wanna… Lay here with y-you.”

“Yeah,” Stan answered, patting his face dry, “I want that, too.”

His feet feel light as he glides to the bed, laying his head on Bill’s chest when he laid down. Bill looked at him for a moment, moving his right hand to loops Stan’s curls around his fingers before looking back at the ceiling - the only light reflecting on them being the faintly blue glow from the muted TV.

“What do you th-think of when y-you think of the future?” Bill asked, Stan’s head moving while his chest rumbled with the sound.

_You._

Stan brought his finger up to trace a bird onto Bill’s exposed skin. “I don’t know,” He answered honestly, “I’m a typical guy. I want to get married, settle down, have kids. The norm, I guess. You?”

“The s-same. What’s your t-take on aliens?”

“I think we’d have to be stupid to believe we’re the only sentient beings living the way we do in something so infinite as space and all the universes are - no matter how uncomfortable thinking about that makes me.”

“D’you thi-think they’re evil? Maybe they ea-eat humans. They could sh-sh-shapeshift, too - what if I’m an ay-alien and I d-don’t even know it?” Bill mused.

“Maybe.” Stan mumbled with a chuckle, “But what if we really are alone? I think that’s scarier, somehow, than aliens that eat people. Being entirely alone in the universe - no one to notice our absence when the sun finally explodes and kills off our solar system and everything in it.”

“We’re n-not alone,” Stan felt Bill twirl a lock on his hair, “Y-you’re with me and I’m w-with you.”

“Hmm. Yeah,” Stan agreed. “Together.”

“Together.” Bill echoed.

They stayed like that for some time, talking about everything and nothing. Stan melted into Bill’s voice, hanging onto all of his words.

Silence lapsed between them eventually, and as it grew Stan came to realize with the steady rise and fall of Bill’s chest and the first snore that he’d fallen asleep.

Stan traced hearts onto him.

He laid awake for a while, relishing in the sound of Bill’s breathing and heartbeat. Bill’s arms tightened around him every now and again, and Stan wondered what he could be dreaming about - if he was dreaming about him. He considered the fact that he could do this forever - that if there was a heaven, this was his.

_You’re mine, you’re mine._

Stan’s eyes drooped, practically begged to be shut, but he willed them open to stare at the beautiful man above him. He didn’t want to miss a minute, even if Bill would be in his dreams. His eyes glided smoothly to where his finger was tracing onto Bill’s skin.

 _I love you,_ he traced.  _I’m Stan Uris and I’m in love with you, Bill Denbrough,_ his finger moved easily on smooth skin.

Bill’s arms tightened around him again a final time, and he swore he saw him smile.

 _So irrevocably,_ he thought,  _so stupidly,_ he remarked,  _in love with you._

With this he sighed, letting his eyelids flutter closed at last.

Two weeks later, Stan could be found with his stress levels maxed out and his sex drive high. He had just finished the semester finals, and was on his first week of holiday break. There was snow on the ground and plans being arranged - his parents calling often to set up for him to visit them back home.

Bill had bought him several spa treatments in efforts to relieve his stress, and they worked, for the most part, and it wasn’t like he was deprived of sex - Bill and him had done something three times that week, Bill being gentle and considerate of Stan’s stress levels always - but there was still tension that Stan couldn’t understand, as finals were over and he no longer had anything to worry about.

So he spent the day at home, utterly bored. He knew there were plenty of things he could go out and do, but he didn’t want to go out, but he was going out of his mind sitting on the couch and doing nothing.

He thought about packing for his parents - as he’d be leaving in a few days - and decided that was probably the best idea. If he packed early there was less of a chance he would forget something important.

In the midst of gathering clothes to bring for his few nights’ stay, however, he was distracted - he had discovered some lingerie Bill had pointed out of him in a catalog once before in his drawer. He had passed it off - but Bill must have been pretty set on that pair, seeing as he bought it and put it in with Stan’s clothes without even telling him. Stan couldn’t help but smirk.

Fifteen minutes later, Stan was admiring himself in the bathroom mirror - Bill had nice taste. He smiled evilly when the idea occurred to him to snap a picture or two to Bill, but as he grabbed his phone it buzzed with a text in his hands. It was from Bill.

‘ _Sorry to bother, baby, but I forgot some files on my desk before I left. Would you mind bringing them to my office?’_

Stan’s evil smile grew impossibly wider as he read - ideas swirling around his mind as he typed out his reply:

‘ _Sure, send me the address.’_

Stan wasn’t an idiot. He knew that if he was going into Bill’s office that he was going to have to dress like a normal person - that including not wearing makeup, or a dress, or anything scanty like he would normally to turn Bill on.

So maybe it’s a good thing he wasn’t feeling like his usual self that day.

He dug in his drawers for the only pair of black skinny jeans he owned - out of tune with his routine aesthetic - and jumped to get them on. He grabbed one of Bill’s flannels from its spot hanging over a post of their bed and buttoned it on, rolling up the sleeves to they stopped falling over his hands. To complete the Fuckboy Look he was going for, he slid on vans and capped his curls with a snapback he found hanging on a hook in Bill’s closet. It was for a sports team, Stan didn’t even bother to really look at it - only noting that it was red and matched with Bill’s red and black flannel draped over his shoulders.

He grabbed his backpack, and may have slipped a small bottle of lube in it (He didn’t get all sex-ied up for nothing, now), before heading downstairs on his trek for Bill’s files.

He let his GPS direct him to Bill’s office building, neck bending all the way back as he looked up at it. He supposed this was what it was what a multi-million, maybe even billion, corporation looked like.

He walked fairly gingerly, backpack slung over one shoulder - Bill’s manila folder inside.

“Can I get Bill Denbrough’s office?” He requested the front secretary. He watched her look him up and down condescendingly, eyebrows raised. If looks could talk, her face would be saying,  _Ew, who are you?_

Stan resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  _Does this bitch know who I am?_

“Do you have a meeting scheduled with him?” Her voice was nasally, pretentious sounding. She looked in her early thirties - maybe late twenties, if you forgave the wrinkles in her forehead. Stan didn’t.

“No,” He deadpanned, “But I-,”

“Mr. Denbrough’s calendar is booked for the day, I’m afraid you’ll have to arrange another time to meet with him.” She seemed to think that would be enough to make Stan go away, as she looked back down to whatever she was doing on the laptop in front of her.

 _Service with a smile must be their number one policy,_ Stan remarked to himself,  _I am so telling him to fire you._

“I’m Stan Uris. He’s expecting me. I’m dropping something off for him.” He was fed up at this point, arms crossed across his chest and ready to ask someone else for directions to Bill’s office.

She snickered out her reply, “Take the elevator to the fourteenth floor, he’s the last door at the end of the hall.”

Stan squinted. “Why are you laughing?” He inquired, trying to sound as unbothered as possible.

“Oh, just a rumor, Mr. Uris. Try not to ruin into his secretary while you’re up there.”

Stan gave her the fakest smile he could manage, faking sweetness as he chirped, “Thanks so much!” He uncrossed his arms, leaning onto her desk, “And by the way,” He paused to squint dramatically at her name pin, “ _Linda_ , consider yourself fired.”

With that, he was sauntering away before she even had the time to reply.

Stan was always particularly vulnerable to stares and whispers - always has been since grade school. But back then, he had Richie by his side to do something attention-directing and taking the eyes off of him.

Now, as he walked the pristine halls of the building, navigating his way to Bill’s room, he had no one to distract the eyes. It was like high school all over again - this time being ostracized by “professional” adults instead of snooty Derry sixteen year olds.

“ _Is that him? Do you think he knows about Audra?”_

_“I don’t know, but I heard she blows him under his desk on his lunch break, can you believe that? Poor kid.”_

_“I don’t see what’s all that about him, he’s average.”_

_“You’d think someone so rich would have better taste.”_

Stan walked faster, gripping his backpack straps anxiously.  _High school all over again._

To say the least, he couldn’t reach Bill’s office fast enough.

His - presumably - secretary’s desk is right outside his room. A rounded, sturdy-looking, oak table, covered in papers - a young girl that looked a lot like Beverly sitting behind it. Stan might have thought it was Beverly at first glance, had her hair not been so long.

He knew he shouldn’t listen to the woman from downstairs’ words, but they rang in his head nonetheless.

_Try not to run into his secretary while you’re up there._

He gritted his teeth and continued his approach anyway. He didn’t come all this way for nothing, after all. Maybe he could get in, give Bill his papers, suck some dick, and get out. Yeah. That sounded like a solid plan.

He passed her, going right in for the door handle, before he was stopped by her voice.

“Mr. Urr-is,” She mispronounced, “I assume you have an appointment with Bill?”

Stan’s blood boiled.  _Mine._

_… I heard she blows him under his desk on his lunch break, can you believe it? Poor kid._

“It’s  _Yur_ -is,” He corrected, already scrutinizing from the patronizing comments in the hall, “And don’t you think it’s kind of unprofessional to call your boss by his first name?”

“He requested I not call him sir,” She nodded, and Stan hated her already for being so  _actually_  professional, unlike the woman downstairs.

Stan felt heat rush to his cheeks. Right. That was his job.

“O-oh,” He fumbled, “Very well. Yes, I have an appointment with Bill. Just dropping something off,” He smiled meekly, and maybe half of it was genuine.

She was pretty, he had to admit. She looked too much like Beverly not to be. Her hair was a similar color to hers, long like when they were kids. Before she started cutting it.

Stan still thought Beverly was prettier, though. He glanced at her name tag as she got up, grabbing a key card. It read as he expected it to:  _Audra._

She swiped the card in the slot, the lock buzzing, and she opened the door for him with a soft smile. He hated every minute of it. How dare she be so nice to him?

Bill is sitting at a desk across the room, back facing the door but turning as he heard it open.

Stan took in the warm smile on Bill’s face as well as the room - which was nearly all window, looking out onto the city below, with high ceilings. It was spacey - and reminded him of their house.

Stan would’ve returned the smile if he wasn’t pissed. He listened to the door close and the lock latch behind him.

“Hi, princess,” Bill spoke in the strained voice - like he did whenever Stan happened to call him at work, “It’s nice to see you in the middle of the day for once.”

Stan walked across the room, unzipping his backpack and pulling the file of papers out, “Hey,” He greeted, straight faced, “I have your papers.”

Bill laughed, and Stan looked at him with his head quirked, confused.

“You thought I actually wanted the papers? I just wanted to see you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Stan grew increasingly irritated. He had endured hearing all of that stupid shit in the hallway that felt akin to public embarrassment for a crime he didn’t commit - just because Bill couldn’t wait a few hours to see him? “You were gonna see me in,” He glanced at his watch, “Four hours when you got home.”

“Yeah,” Bill chuckled, “But you wouldn’t have been dressed like  _this_ when I got home. Is that my shirt? And my snapback?” He licked his lips.

Stan didn’t respond.

“D-did you not want to see me?” Bill faltered.

Stan sighed, the innocence in Bill’s eyes disarming him. He supposed he didn’t know about the rumors - and that meant they couldn’t be true, right?

Still, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

“I hate the lady downstairs and  _somehow_  everyone already knows who I am and that I’m here and I think the embodiment of your female employees want to have your kids and they were all whispering about me in the hallway which made me want to curl up and die on the inside, you know? And I also heard you’re fucking your secretary,” He rambled, letting out his anxieties. He was beginning to hate this building with every passing moment that he stood in it, “Which, like, also sort of makes me want to curl up and die.” He finished.

Bill’s face fell, and he sighed in return. “Rumors get pretty nasty around here,” He admitted, “Guess I’m just used to it. High school never ends, you know.” He gives Stan an apologetic look, and Stan accepts with the usual humorous eye roll.

“Tell me about it. And for fuck’s sake, stop talking like that. I don’t want to hear CEO Mr. William Denbrough’s voice; I wanna hear  _your_ voice.”

Bill’s face broke out into a smile again, and Stan mirrored him this time, observing as he was quiet for a minute before speaking again.

“B-better?” The strained voice was gone, and he was back to Bill. Not the Mr. Denbrough everyone around this place was gossiping about, not the boss, not anything but Bill.  _His_  Bill.

“Much,” Stan nodded, and just then, Bill’s phone rang.

Another apologetic look was thrown his way as Bill picked up - strained voice taking up the room again.

“Corporate Estate Works, CEO Bill Denbrough speaking.”

Stan bit his lip, watching Bill swivel in his seat as he talked to whoever was on the phone. Mischievous ideas flowed freely across his mind until he settled on one he took a particular liking to.

_Blowjob on a lunch break, huh? Let me do you one better…_

Tongue running over his teeth, he ran his fingers along the edge of Bill’s desk as he approached him - Bill watching him intently, eyes widening when Stan sank to his knees in front of him.

‘ _I swear to god, Stan_ ,’ He mouthed, to which Stan winked, already moving to palm Bill through his trousers.

He coughed immediately on whatever word he was saying. “Sorry,” He spoke into the phone, eyes never leaving Stan’s, “I have a bad cold. Go on.”

Stan watched him gulp as he brought his other hand up, undoing Bill’s belt - making as little noise as possible. He’d pulled Bill out and starting pumping him when the coughing fits came, only encouraging him - Bill’s harsh grip on the edge of the table egging him on.

He gave Stan a harsh look and Stan shot back his most wide-eyed, innocent face as he hovered his mouth over Bill’s cock.

Bill exhaled through his nose - soundless but dramatic.

Stan went through his whole routine, kitten licks on the tip while Bill mumbled, “Mhms,” into the phone, clearly not paying attention as Stan licked up a stripe up the bottom side.

Stan made sure to go agonizingly slow and look up from under his lashes at Bill’s pained, blissed expression.

“No, I understand what you’re saying, that’s just not an offer I,” A sharp inhale followed by a cough, “That’s not an offer I can agree to.”

He swirled his tongue around the tip, and suddenly there was a hand knocking off his snapback and fisting his hair. Bill was giving him a stern look, jaw clenched.

“I’ll call you back - I have a meeting.” He excused, hanging up the phone before the other person on the line said anything else.

Stan was tugged fairly violently up, away from Bill’s dick - Bill pulling his head back to look at him.

“Pants off. Ass oh-over the desk. Now. I d-don’t want to hear a thing.”

Stan did as he was told, listening to Bill walk across the room to the door - locking the physical lock on the door - and Stan was glad it was solid, no windows in it. The only chance anyone would see them was if there happened to be a helicopter flying by - which wasn’t likely.

“Lube in my bag,” Stan mumbled, and watched from his position on the desk as Bill rummaged through it. Sure enough, he pulled out the same small blue bottle Stan had tucked in earlier.

“S-so you had this pl-planned then?” Bill teased, voice low and eyebrows quirked, setting the bottle on the edge of the desk as he came up behind Stan. He tugged at Stan’s panties, answering his own question, “Clearly.”

“Bralette, too,” Stan peeped, “The set you were looking at - you ordered them and just put them in my drawer without even telling me.”

Bill chuckled the ever familiar low chuckle, hands roaming and caressing Stan’s body. “Sh-shirt off, too, then - though you luh-look so hot in my clothes, m-make a note to have me fuck you in one of m-my shirts.”

“When we get home, baby,” Stan purred, unmoving, “We have to be quick.”

Stan saw Bill pick up the bottle of lube before moving his hand out of his peripheral vision again, but felt the fabric of his underwear be moved aside and his asshole start to be toyed with by Bill’s fingers - eliciting a whimper, “Don’t be gentle, please, sir.” He requested with a gulp.

“Trust me, I w-won’t,” He could hear the smirk in Bill’s voice, “As l-long as you don’t make any n-noise. If we make noise w-w-we’ll have to stop, and we don’t want th-that, do we now?” He pushed two lubed fingers in, and Stan gripped the edge of the table, a weak, “No, sir,” escaping his lips.

Bill worked up to four fingers rather quickly, and Stan bit back all of his moans and whimpers - the two being exceptionally quiet.

Bill was sliding in Stan in no time, Stan finding it extremely hard to keep silent now - the smallest squeaks and whimpers emitting from his throat - because Bill wasn’t lying, being anything but gentle.

“C-color,” He mumbled to Stan, pressing his tip against his entrance.

“Green, please, go,” Stan relished in the small amount of sound he was allowed to make, trying to exhale all of the silenced moans in that one use of his voice.

His eyes popped open wide and his mouth parted in an ‘O’ when Bill went nearly all the way in his first thrust.

So, yeah, he was having some trouble keeping it shut while Bill pounded him into the desk. He let one moan slip and suddenly he was being pulled up by his waist and into Bill’s chest - the latter still not taking mercy and continuing to thrust into Stan, who was speechless now.

“Hmm,” Bill hummed into Stan’s ear, “My luh-little slut can’t keep quiet for me?”

Stan shook his head and felt Bill raise his hand to  his face.

“S-suck on my fingers,” He instructed, “it-t’ll make it easier.”

Stan swallowed before opening his mouth, albeit reluctantly, and closing it again around the two fingers that were now in it. He tried to focus on sucking on them - and Bill was right, it worked, somewhat. He wondered briefly how Bill knew that, but quickly shook the thought from his mind as Bill’s cock grazed his g-spot - causing him to bite down hard on his fingers.

Bill gasped, probably from his fingers being bitten when Stan had only been sucking them a minute earlier, before he was mumbling into Stan’s ear again. “D-did I hit-,”

Stan nodded violently.

“More?”

Another defined nod.

A few more strokes and Stan was pulling his mouth away from Bill’s fingers, whispering, “S-sir, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-,” before Bill cut him off.

“No,” came the firm reply, and Stan threw his head back against Bill’s shoulder, biting his lip as he was tortured.

“Please, please,” His pleas came out hushed, “I wanna- I wanna cum for you,” He whispered, mouth practically on Bill’s ear.

“Stan, I-,” Bill panted, “I w-want…”

“What, baby?” Stan wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself together, his eyes screwed shut and squeezing Bill’s fingers between his own with one hand.

“I want you t-t-to cum in my mouth,” Bill confessed, words moving so fast Stan almost didn’t understand him.

Stan probably would have been surprised if he had the ability to think past the prospect of orgasming. “Yeah - yeah, baby, get on your knees.”

Within seconds Bill was dropped to his knees on the floor and Stan was turned around, fingers holding tightly to Bill’s hair - almost forcing Bill’s mouth onto his cock. He hadn’t meant to be so rough, but Bill’s warm, wet mouth felt so good around him that he was releasing within seconds - Bill actually taking it all.

Bill stood up and went in for a kiss - but not before Stan could return the favor, Bill cumming in Stan’s mouth a much more common occurrence.

They both stood together for a moment, Stan’s forehead pressed to Bill’s chest - possibly getting sweat on his shirt, but he didn’t care. He felt his chest heave with his breath, and he felt his cool fingertips on his waist underneath the large flannel. The door handle jiggled from across the room, and they both jumped, hanging onto each other - causing Stan’s head to knock into Bill’s chin prompting ‘Ow!’s from both of them before they looked at each other with small laughs.

“We didn’t even k-kiss hello,” Bill joked, and Stan pressed up on his tiptoes to meet the taller man’s lips, kissing him sweetly.

“Hello,” He chirped.

“Bill,” Audra’s voice could be heard faintly from outside the door, “Just a reminder you have a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Guess that’s my cue,” Stan smiled with a nod - collecting his pants and [Bill’s] snapback from the ground, adjusting and smoothing his clothes along with Bill’s.

“There,” He fixed Bill’s tie, collar, and sleeves, “You look like you just got here.”

“G-good thing you br-brought that hat,” Bill chuckled, watching as Stan turned to pick up his bag, capping the bottle of lube and slipping it back in his bag, slinging that over his shoulder.

“Best of all,” Stan began to joke, putting his hand in the air for a high-five, “We didn’t get cum on anything! We’re getting too good at this stuff,” He laughed.

Bill high-fived Stan with a laugh, using the motion to entwine their fingers and pull Stan forward into his arms, placing another kiss on his lips.

Stan thought he might die of lovesickness - if that were possible.

“See you at home,” Stan murmured while Bill was still close, “It was really hot watching you swallow for me.”

Bill’s face turned red, and he bashfully let Stan go and began to wave him off, before, “Stan, wait-,” causing Stan to turn around.

“No, I d-don’t fuck my secretary - I know it wuh-w-would bother you for the rest of the day if I d-didn’t tell you now. Ah-Audra’s nice, but you’re the oh-only one I want.”

“Good to know,” Stan nodded.  _I love you, too._  “By the way, not that I’m telling you how to run your business, or anything,” He turned the lock on the door again, hand on the knob, “But you should fire Linda - at the front desk. She was a total bitch to me when I came in, and I’d like to think you like to make good impressions.”

“Y-yeah,” Bill agreed, “I don’t really l-like her. She’s always trying to, like, touch me when I cuh-come in and leave and stuff. It’s weird.” He walked back to his desk, leaning on it and watching Stan.

“Great! Double reason to fire her!” Stan enthused, and smiled one last time, waving. “Bye.”

“Bye, princess.”

And with that, Stan exited the Bill’s office - and was faced again with the long hallway of cubicles filled with gossiping adults that led to the elevator. Somehow, he was less bothered. Less deterred.

“Bye, Audra,” He tried to give her a sincere smile and wave. It wasn’t  _her_  fault people thought she was fucking  _his_ Bill, he tried to remind himself.

He managed to ignore any stares he received or whispers he heard walking back down - not even feeling like he was taking a walk of shame.

He about to round the front desk and out the door when he heard the phone ring from it - Linda picking it up with a sickeningly sweet, “ _Hello, Mr. Denbrough?”_

He smirked, leaning up against the wall in a spot he would have the perfect view of watching her face fall.

And he did. If he strained his hearing, he swore he could hear Bill say a few muffled things - and then:  _You’re fired._  Followed by a few more muffled instructions.

_I’m so in love._

Stan had thought, until now, that getting dicked in Bill’s office was going to be the highlight of his day, but this was so much better. He watched her face contort into surprise, and then regret - and he smiled through both of them, waiting for her to hang up with a “Yes, Mr. Denbrough. I understand.”

Stan pushed of the wall, tongue tracing over his teeth like an asshole again, and made his way across the hallway, tapped his fingertips on her desk as he exited.

“Have a  _great_  day, um, Lisa, was it?” He smirked, pushing through the revolving door as her voice travelled dejectedly behind him.

“You too, Mr. Uris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what a doozy, the next chapter is even MORE of a doozy, this is where it starts to get real, bros….. hehe


	8. eight: what are you doing here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello hello please dont murder me also this is unedited so like. if it sucks because of the typos im sorry but its 5:30 am and im so not editing it now

The week Stan spent with his parents was a good time - and though he didn’t spend the entirety of Hanukkah there, the celebration never failed to make him smile. He didn’t have much contact with Bill while he was away - a few texts exchanged here and there.

As dumb as it sounded, since they were only apart for a few days, Stan really missed Bill.

Stan smiled as he thought about Bill offering to go with him. Stan had grinned and dismissed it as unnecessary - the company probably needed him and Stan would be alright by himself, he was an adult. Bill had joked he was saying it more for his own good than Stan’s, but Stan insisted. He didn’t want to be a bother.

Once more, his father probably wouldn’t appreciate Stan bringing another man into his home. It was one thing for Stan to openly be gay, but he felt that it was on another level to actually introduce someone to his parents - though he knew he would have to introduce Bill to them eventually, though. He wanted to, oh, he so wanted to - but still, nothing was officialized, and there’d be a cold day in hell before Stan introduced Bill as his sugar daddy to anyone.

Stan knew his father wanted to be supportive. He tried, and Stan appreciated it. He wasn’t ecstatic when Stan quit baseball and protested that not only girls could wear pink and skirts and paint their nails, but he wasn’t detrimental. He never treated Stan differently, though he did try to talk Stan out of ballet, but, still, never treated him differently. After all, Stan was his only son - only child, at that - and that meant something. Something that kept them close despite differences.

His parents noticed the necklace and the pendant - as Stan often played with it absentmindedly, or held it when he thought of Bill. His mother smiled at him with a knowing gleam in her eye, telling him it was very beautiful - and that he must be very special to whoever had gotten it for him. His dad nodded in agreement with his wife’s statement. He lied - telling them it had been Beverly in a friendly gesture.

He wished Bill was there fairly often. He wished Bill was there to celebrate Hanukkah with them, among other things - though he probably wouldn’t have understood it. He would probably have made a fool of himself, actually - but Stan wouldn’t have cared. That would’ve been  _his_  fool. He wondered briefly if they would celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas both when they had a family of their own, and smiled dreamily at the thought.

Stan missed Bill tragically - feeling starved as he boarded his plane with excitement. He’d changed up his flights last minute - now leaving a day earlier than he was meant to. He loved his parents - but he had gotten ahead of himself,  _again,_  (God, what was Bill doing to him?) and done it on impulse. He felt bad, but didn’t regret it. He decided not to tell - figuring he could just take an uber back to their home and surprise Bill when he got in. That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?

He sat on his plane and thought about these things through his ride, playing with the charm hanging in between his collarbones all the way.

Having his departure delayed certainly hadn’t helped him get home any faster - and the digital clock on his phone ticked closer and closer to ten o’clock pm as he rode anxiously in his uber, homebound. He couldn’t wait to see Bill, couldn’t wait to drop his stuff by their bed and curl into his inviting arms and kiss him and tell him how much he’d missed him. Despite the lateness - Stan wasn’t tired, and was only further energized by thoughts of how Bill would react to his coming home early. He wanted to feel Bill’s hands in his hair, all over his body, all over him-

_Not in an uber._

Stan blushed at himself and thought of other things on his way home instead. He considered again something that had been on his mind since his delayed departure hours ago: how to confess to Bill that he was in love with him. That he thought Bill might feel the same way, and that he wanted to take a plunge into the deep end, no matter how scary it seemed. How to tell Bill that he was sure, he was so sure, he had never been surer of anything in his life. Stan was getting over lying and keeping secrets - and he’d decided he wanted to start there somewhere along his visit to his parents - his time away from Bill.  _Distance makes the heart grow fonder_. He bit his lip.

The driver helps him get his duffle bag out of the back when they approached the house - Stan having to get out before to type the code in that unlocked the gate in front of the driveway.

He rolled his duffle bag to the door - expecting it to be open, as it usually was when he or Bill were home and awake, but when he turned the knob, it didn’t budge.

He shrugged, not thinking it a big deal. It was a Sunday night, a work night, Bill was probably in bed already. That would explain the lack of lights in the house that Bill usually kept on.

So he fished his keys from his backpack and typed in the security code before letting himself in, breathing in the familiar scent of their home. It was comforting after being away. He took note that the nightlight in the hallway leading to their bedroom was on, a good sign. Bill always turned that on before he went to bed.

But upon entering, he found their room dark and empty - flicking on the light to find the bed made neatly by Maria, presumably (their maid - Bill  _never_  made the bed) and not even looking sat on. He figured he probably should have assumed Bill wasn’t in here sleeping when there was no faint glow of the television from under the door, but it wasn’t a big deal. He would just wait - it gave him more time to think about how he was going to tell Bill. Butterflies pooled in his stomach just at the thought - and Stan was giddy.

He unpacked as he contemplated, coming across the robe in his closet that he had worn the very first time they’d had sex - which seemed so long ago by now. He smiled softly, taking it off the hanger. Was using sex as an expression of love too cliché - and did he even care?

No was his resolute answer. He didn’t think it was - and if it indeed was, he didn’t care. He fished the matching panties out of his dresser and changed, electing to finish unpacking tomorrow. It could wait - and this was long overdue.

Stan didn’t question the increasing lateness - something that probably should’ve given him a clue. But he was lost, lost in how in love he was. Blindsided.

He couldn’t stop imagining how Bill would react. His favorite was the daydream in which Bill’s mouth dropped open and he was speechless - Stan taking his hand and leading him upstairs like the first time. He would sit on Bill’s lap and twirl tufts of his hair while he told him everything - watching his big blue eyes for any sign of regret and finding none. Bill would agree, he would say it back. Stan could hear it if he tried.  _I l-l-love you, too. I’m s-so in love with you, Stanley._ And then maybe they wouldn’t even need to have sex, maybe they could do it in the morning  - Stan growing increasingly tired as he waited up for Bill on the sofa.

Midnight rolled around - and that was two hours Stan had been home without a sign of Bill. Surely he shouldn’t have been too worried - but paranoia crept up on him like a monster in the dark.

It was one in the morning when Stan sent the first couple of texts - but not exactly giving away that he was home, just vague enough so that Bill would answer. Nothing. He called twice, and they each went straight to voicemail.

_Great, his phone’s dead._

It was early after two, and Stan’s eyes were half lidded meanwhile he paced around the living room when he heard the front door slam open and closed - causing him to jump and his eyes to pop wide open. It wasn’t the stumbling sound ringing through the kitchen that puzzled him, or the bumps, though they probably should’ve - no, it was the faint sound of soft moans and lips smacking that made him tense up.

He was frozen - hoping a million things all at once, unmoving from his spot standing in the middle of the room - facing the exit of the kitchen. He hoped irrational things, already out of his head. He hoped that Bill had picked up some horny strangers on the street and was simply giving them a place to stay for the night - because he was such a good person, right? He hoped that Bill was maybe just smacking gum loudly, and that the low rumbles he heard were only Bill after bumping into counters.

But he knew - he didn’t need them to tumble out of the kitchen the way they did, grabbing onto each other so obscenely for him to know.

He dumbly fumbled for the sides of his robe, pulling around himself like he could hide away in it.

A familiar figure with long red hair was tugging Bill’s shirt out of his pants, not facing him as their lips made a horrible smack sound that made Stan feel the need to gag. He gaped at them, gripping his robe tightly around him. He swore he felt his heart shatter in his chest, and he squeaked with the pain.

“Sssstuh-Stah-han!” Bill jumped, pulling back from Audra, his eyes (Those bright blue eyes that Stan didn’t even want to look at now) wide open. Stan knew by the slur of his voice that he was drunk. He cringed. “What-t’are you duh-dd-doing here? I thhhh-thought you’weren’t coming home tuh-tuh-tuh-til tomorrow?” He questioned, obviously panicked.

Stan stood still, still frozen by the scene playing out in front of him - like a deer in the headlights. He took in Bill’s appearance - half-unbuttoned shirt effectively tugged out of the waist of his slacks, lipstick that didn’t belong to Stan smudged over his face and his neck and his lips.

“I came home early, as a surpri-ise.” Stan shocked himself with the calmness of his own voice, despite that one voice crack - the only clue he might burst into tears any minute. He was incredulous he was even standing there, talking to Bill. He wanted to be far, far away.

Audra was obviously equally intoxicated - maybe even more so than Bill. She didn’t even seem to notice Stan, and had no problem trying to tug Bill’s lips back down to hers - his eyes on Stan’s all the while. Stan felt like a third party to it all - like this wasn’t happening to him. It couldn’t be happening to him.

“Bill, baby,” She slurred, “Are we fucking or what?”

“I-in a minute, babe, Stah-Stan-,”

Stan never hated two people more in one moment - as he turned around, away from Audra, away from Bill, away from this. Everything.

“Go away,” He commanded, not letting his voice waver, “Get out of my sight.”

He stayed like that until he heard them shuffle and clamor down the hall, and then went to grab himself a blanket from the closet. He wished he’d stayed at home now - if he’d known it would have saved him from this he never would have come back. If he’d known he never would’ve come here at all in the first place - he would have dragged Richie to California and chased the college of his dreams with his best friend. He would’ve left Beverly behind and never met Ben if it saved him the horrible ache in his chest that bruised and stung and gutted him.

He glanced to the couch, draping the blanket over himself.

He didn’t want to sit there - he and Bill had been there before. He and Bill had done things on that couch, said things on that couch. It probably smelled like him, and Stan didn’t think that was something he could take.

He looked down at his own body, down to where he still stood in the living room. He brushed his feet against the carpet and refused to open the blanket - feeling ashamed as he sat on the floor.

He cursed the strip club and he cursed whatever entity brought Bill in there in the first place. He cursed his stupid education and his stubborn independence that wouldn’t allow his parents to loan him a cent. He wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for those factors - and he could have gone all his life without being here right now.

He wished he’d never met Bill Denbrough.

But there was a pang in his chest, and he knew he was lying.

At the first crack of a muffled voice he heard, he was opening his mouth - wanting to hear anything but the man he loved fuck someone that wasn’t him.

“Alexa,” He demanded, looking up to the bot, “Play Whip It by Devo, on repeat, full volume.”

The machine booped, and suddenly  _Crack that whip! Give the past a slip!_  Was blaring through the house - Stan grateful surround sound existed.

He laid on his back and stared at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. He tried to feel nothing - tried to simulate a blank mind and empty heart.

_This can’t be happening to me._

He felt disgusting. He felt dirty. He felt like he they were doing it right in front of him - though he couldn’t see them or hear them over the noise he’d created. He felt like he could  _feel_  them.

He thought about himself and Bill as the felt his eyes droop - exhausted.

_You’re with me and I’m with you. Together. Together._

He sat up suddenly, trying to blink and chase away the tears that pooled, swallowing the lump again. He wanted to push the thoughts of him and Bill lying in bed together for so many nights away, he wished more than anything he could forget them.

But at the same time, he didn’t want to forget them - no matter what happened. He wouldn’t trade them for the world - all the little images in his mind of Bill’s sleepy smiles and tired good mornings. Tracing  _I love you_ s into his skin in the TV light. Kissing softly down all of his fingers. Those fingers in his hair and the steam of their showers together.

 _This is ridiculous,_  Stan told himself,  _So ridiculous - to think he might have loved me, to think we were in love. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He didn’t know how many times Whip It looped or how much time passed or how many memories of himself and Bill repeated before he fell asleep, laying right there in the middle of the living room.

He was stirred slightly at the sound of walking through the hall - and squinted to see Audra making her way out. He couldn’t even bring himself to hate her; he was just tired - still hoping this was all a dream.

But his jaw clenched when he realized that meant she stayed over - meaning she slept in their bed. On his side.

 _Not like it matters now,_  He commented,  _you’re not going to be sleeping in it any time soon. She can keep it._ He swallowed hard.  _Not your bed, not ‘our’ bed. Bill’s bed._

Stan sighed; removing himself from the blanket he’d curled himself in during the night. It was apparently much colder in the house at night without a warm body to hold you.

His face heated red when he remembered what he was wearing, but he continued to the kitchen for a glass of cold water before heading to the bedroom to put on some real clothes. He sipped his water, and realized he hadn’t gotten to do his nightly skin care routine - Bill had taken to doing it with him in the past couple of weeks, and now he almost wanted to never do it again.

He reached the room and slammed the door that was gently closed wide open, not caring if it woke the snoring mass of covers lying in the bed. It didn’t.

Stan pulled out some old clothes from the bottom of his drawers - clothes Bill hadn’t bought. Clothes Bill hadn’t touched. Clothes that screamed, “ _I’m Stanley Uris - bully me, world!_ ”

He picked up his glass from where he had set it on his dresser, looking at the ice clinking lightly against the crystal to Bill, who was curled in what looked like fetal position from where Stan was standing, all of the covers pulled around him.

Before he could stop himself, he was marching over, glass in hand - and then pulling back the covers, pouring the ice cold water directly into Bill’s face, a scowl engraved deep into his own.

“Wake up, asshole,” He growled, condescending, “Care to explain what the  _fuck_ , Bill?”

Bill must have inhaled some of the water as it splashed on his face, because he sat and had a coughing fit instead of answering Stan.

 _Die, then_ , Stan’s mind rang.

“What th-th-the fuck was that for?” Bill questioned once he regained his breath.

“Oh, just for fun,” Stan answered with sarcasm dripping from every word, “Do the words,  _I swear I’m not fucking my secretary_ ring any bells for you? Or did you get too hammered last night to remember?”

“Shh-hit, Stan, I-,” Bill fumbled his words, beginning to scramble out of bed, hissing when the sun caught his eyes and holding his head, “I’m sor-,”

“Save it,” Stan said simply. He backed from Bill, back to the door. “I don’t want to hear it.”

_You’re not sorry, you’re not sorry._

He turned on his heels and bounded down the stairs, grabbing his keys off the rack. He needed to get out of the house, somewhere away from Bill and Bill’s smell and Bill’s things.

He hadn’t noticed he’d grabbed the Ferrari keys - so accustomed to doing so.

“St-Stan,” Bill caught up to him quickly in the kitchen, “ _Stan_!”

Stan turned, taking his hand off the doorknob to face Bill’s stupid face that he kind of wanted to slap, or maybe never see again.

“Would yuh-you stop running away from every little thhhh-hing you don’t want to deal with? Can we t-t-talk about this?”

Stan glared at him - wanting nothing more than to be out of that house and away from Bill and away from his problem. So maybe Bill was right, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Do you have an issue with me, or what?” He snapped, squinting. “Maybe I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe there’s nothing to talk about.”

Stan watched Bill pull his hand up to his temple and let out a long breath of air. “Nuh-no, it’s j-juh-hust fucking irritating that you’re w-walking away from me when I’m truh-trying to explain myseh-,”

“Well then,” Stan cocked his head, feigning gentleness before his eyes snapped back into a glare, “Why don’t you fucking explain yourself?”

His scrutinizing look didn’t let up no matter how many times Bill stuttered over the word “Uh-,” next.

“That’s what I thought,” His jaw clenched. He hasn’t realized how angry he was until now - until he was livid, prospects of confrontation right in front of him, his for the taking. He turned his back to Bill when he felt tears well in his eyes,  _I can’t do this, I can’t do this, leave me alone_. “Fuck off, Bill.”

He shouldn’t have been so shocked at his lack of voice crack.

“Thhh-this isn’t fair, you’re n-n-not even letting me collect my thhh-houghts-,”

Stan never whipped around so quickly in his life, exploding finally - letting out everything he’d been holding in since last night.

“You had all night to think about it!” He exclaimed, tears suddenly gone - hands in fists by his side, “It’s not like you didn’t-,” He gasped, trying to get in a breath before he processed that the tears were coming to his eyes again thinking about how he felt, Bill walking past him so easily. So easily like he was nothing. “It’s not like you didn’t  _fucking_  see me! It’s not like you didn’t fucking  _talk to me_  before fucking-,”

He found he couldn’t finish, his voice finally cracking fatefully. He wanted to turn away, turn away forever and never let Bill Denbrough see him weak - see him cry. The tears welled heavy in his eyes and he thought he might, until Bill was reaching out to touch him and he was lurching back against the wall. He felt his back hit in with a  _thud_ , fearing Bill’s skin like it was acid, like it would burn holes into his outside, too.

Bill stopped his approach, but spoke, “Stan, baby-,”

“Don’t touch me.” Stan warned lowly, pressing himself up against the wall still, though Bill made no moves to come closer.

“Stan, duh-don’t cry, please,” Bill begged, “I d-didn’t- I didn’t-,”

Stan stepped away from the wall, looking downcast and his feet now - still feeling rage surge through him.

“Why did you go through with it?” He interrogated, looking up at Bill pointedly again, “Why’d you do it in the first place? When did this all start?” The questioned pour out of his mouth mixed with venom, giving Bill the coldest and most unfeeling stare he could muster while tears rolled down his cheeks. He could feel his lips set in a hard line and his eyes set into an unmoving stare, no matter how many tears he blinked down onto his skin to roll there, wet streaks like raindrops on a window fogged by condensation. He figured he must look like a sociopath.

It only took a second for Bill to catch on to what Stan meant by the last statement - evident in his statement, “You- you can’t really b-buh-believe I was fucking her for a prolonged am-mount of time,” He gaped, “I kn-know how this looks but I swuh- I  _swear_ , those rumors were just r-rumors.”

Stan was unmoved. “Why?” He deadpanned. He had to know - he had to know why. Why he wasn’t good enough, why Bill couldn’t love him.

Bill was silent, standing in front of Stan with his lips pursed. The emotional tension between them was palpable - and if you looked close enough into Stan’s eyes, you could see him building the walls up again. You could see him building them high and reinforcing them twice, maybe three times, locking every door and sealing every crevice of his mind and heart. Stan could feel it all over him, the anxiety of what was impending in this moment - punching him in his stomach, bruising his rib cage and pounding behind it.

He watched Bill shake his head.

“Why?” He demanded again, and Bill let out something close to a breathy laugh - but it lacked any usual luster. It was empty, hollow, humorless.

 _Its okay, baby! It’s okay! I don’t care, I love you,_ Stan’s heart screamed,  _We can work this out, let’s work it out…_

But Stan’s mind always had a stronger grip on him.

“You d-don’t believe me.” Bill stated simply, not even looking at Stan now. He was looking down at the string of his own pajama pants, feeling it around between his fingers.

“I don’t.”

_I want to, I want to so badly._

“I can’t do an-anything about that,” The humorless laugh came again, “Nuh-nothing I say will ch-change your mind. L-l-like it or not, Stan, I knuh- I know you.”

They lapsed into silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it always had been between them. It was filled with tension and unmade moves, confusion and  _what now_ ’s. Well, it was on Stan’s part. Bill looked almost unbothered, the way he twirled the string between his fingers like he did with Stan’s hair what now seemed to be forever ago.

“Whatever,” The mumbles were moving past Stan’s lips before he could stop them, “It’s not like we were together anyway.”

With that, his hand was on the door again and he was exiting. He needed some air.

He drove around for a long while, probably in circles. He wasn’t paying any attention to where he was going - he had Bill’s credit card if he needed gas, so no matter how far he went, he was ensured. As long as he always came back, as long as he always had Bill’s okay.

He shivered at his own co-dependence, and suddenly he was sweating. He rolled down the windows and shut off the heat - despite the breeze feeling ten below.

The sunrise and bird chirps weren’t comforting on a morning like this, but he tried to focus his attention on them anyway. He appreciated the cold at this point - it was refreshing, it didn’t remind him of Bill like the heat did.

The heat only served to remind him of Bill’s warm, bare chest at night that he had missed so much only a few hours ago and he assumed Audra had enjoyed. It reminded him of nuzzling his nose into Bill’s neck and getting a faint whiff of his cologne even when he wasn’t wearing any. It reminded him of the warmth of showers taken together, and that bath-

He pulled over, tears spilling again. He hadn’t realized he’d driven to Richie’s house until he looked out from his hands again and recognized the area - looking to his right and finding the rundown, half maroon half white chipped-paint townhouse.

He observed his surroundings once more - Richie’s ugly blue ford pickup nowhere to be seen. He wondered briefly where he would be at dawn - the Richie he’d known since he was a kid never woke up before noon if he had a choice.

He didn’t know why, but he got out of his car and trudged up Richie’s front porch steps. He knew Richie’s spare key was hidden under his ashtray out back, but he didn’t want to go inside. He settled for sitting in the single lounge chair that Richie kept on his porch.

 _Doesn’t love me, doesn’t love me_ , his mind played on repeat,  _wouldn’t do that if he loved me._

He tried several times to summon his inner Richie for some sort of comfort - but apparently inner Richie appeared at times Stan didn’t call. How typical.

So he cried on Richie’s porch the way he was, sniffing every so often, holding his fist to his mouth. He was sure he looked like a dumbass, that he looked as stupid now as this whole situation was. Stan had never been cheated on - he wasn’t sure what to do or how to deal. Did this even count as cheating? They were never together. Bill never loved him. Bill didn’t care. He was being a cry baby, he concluded, a cry baby while Bill didn’t care. Bill was probably fucking Audra over his desk right now - and the thought almost prompted Stan to let out a choked sob, but in anger instead of sadness.

But he didn’t get the chance to, the sound of a car door slamming making him jump out of his seat. The keys and wallet in his lap tumbled to the ground and he quickly tried to gather them up, sniffling like he wasn’t just crying.

“Stan?” He heard Richie jog up his front steps as he gathered his things into shaky hands from the ground.

“OhheyRichIwasjustleaving-,” Stan excused himself quickly, mouth not tripping over the rushed speech. His face hurt from crying and he just wanted to get out of there - but Richie was standing in the pathway, blocking his exit.

“Stan,” Richie stepped forward and grabbed his shaking wrists in one swift motion, “Stan, calm down, breathe, breathe, come inside- let’s talk about what’s got your panties all in a bunch.” He tried to humor Stan, but he wasn’t having it. He needed to go.

He pulled out of Richie’s light grip with ease and pushed past him, unlocking the car and tumbling in. He looked back to Richie once to find him standing on the curb, looking at him puzzled as he pulled away.

He went back to Bill’s - not sure where else to go. Seeing the lambo gone came as a relief - Bill had gone to work like he’d thought. Thoughts of Audra and Bill and things they do in Bill’s office occurred to him again, making his stomach churn before he dispelled them - taking an aspirin with cold water to help his migraine.

It didn’t.

He paced around the living room again as he’d done the night before, or earlier than morning - depending on how you looked at it. But not out of worry - out of anger. Confusion. Irritation.

Anger at Bill, anger at himself, confusion over the entire situation, irritation that the stupid snooty people in Bill’s office were right.

He got so angry, in fact, he almost called Bill. His thumb hovered over the call button on Bill’s contact - he’d been glaring at the hearts following “Bill Baby” before he changed it all together - now “William Denbrough,” no hearts included.

What halted him was a text from Mike.

 _Mike_.

Mike that Bill hated the thought of. Mike that Bill hated seeing Stan with. Mike that Bill was  _jealous of._

He was typing out his reply when he decided to just call - not having any plan in particular but knowing this wouldn’t be too hard.

“Heyyy Mike…”

And that was how Stan ended up with a date for drinks that night. He told Mike he really needed to get out of the house and have some fun - and Mike supplied the suggestion of a bar Stan had never heard of but was willing to try.

So Stan got cleaned up - dusted on some light makeup, pulled out those fateful black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt, and was on his way. All before Bill got home, and he didn’t even take one of the cars - his plans for the night were clear in his mind, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to take it back home when they were finished.

Drinks with Mike weren’t bad. Stan flirted his ass off for the first couple of hours, trying to play it up as much as he could. He knew what he was doing was wrong in more ways than one, but he didn’t care. He made a pact with himself there in Bill’s kitchen that morning - as he built his walls back up - that he would only care for himself from then on. Never let anyone in again. Never be vulnerable unless behind closed doors.

He downed drink after drink and put every single one on Bill’s card - Mike’s too. Most of the night is a blur - but he tried to stay extra aware once the fateful words were slurred, “Come back to mine.” They left his lips against Mike’s effortlessly - he didn’t have to fake it, the alcohol taking over.

They were climbing all over each other into the uber, bumping heads and knocking limbs as they entered. Doing this with Mike was almost as comfortable as it was with Bill, but there was just something missing. Nevertheless, Stan was glad it was Mike rather than anyone else - sure he wouldn’t be so comfortable with a stranger, sure Bill would be able to get over it easier if it had been a stranger.

Stan didn’t let Mike’s lips leave his for more than mere moments to take shallow breaths. They tumbled through the door - Stan having turned the knob while Mike was pushing him up against it. This earned drunken laughs shared between them, going right back to where they were.

Clamoring into the living room, a voice that didn’t belong to either of them made Mike jump and Stan keep things going by kissing his neck.

“Stan, I-,” It was Bill. Stan knew - and Stan didn’t care. He knew Bill would be home, maybe he didn’t expect him to be up waiting, but he expected Bill to be home, and here he was.

“Just my roommate,” Stan excused, not looking up. He heard paper crumple, “C’mon. He doesn’t mind.”

He led them to the hallway; he led Mike up the stairs. He led Mike to their- Bill’s bed.

The sex wasn’t bad. It wasn’t Bill - but it was good. There was nothing particularly interesting, except Stan begging Mike to moan louder for him, and he himself was more vocal than he’d ever usually been. Stan was usually comprised of whimpers and soft moans and encouragement only heard by himself and Bill unless Bill was doing particularly well - but now he was entirely too loud, practically yelling, “ _Ah, Mike! Fuck me harder!_ ”

There was reason, there was always reason: he wanted it to ring in Bill’s ears like things Bill said rang in his.  _I-in a minute, babe-_

Orgasms came and Stan was tired by then, accidentally closing his eyes and envisioning Bill behind him as he came. He felt guilty, but he turned and sucked Mike off anyway - both of them fallen tiredly and drunkenly on the bed.

“I didn’t know you were a freak,” Mike laughed, and Stan humored him with a chuckle.

“There’s plenty you don’t know about me, are you sleeping here?”

“If that’s okay with you.”

Stan thought about forcing Bill to sleep on the couch - or the floor, like he had.

“That’s perfect.”

Stan was woken by shivers - he didn’t know if he’d ever get used to how cold Bill kept it at night. He’d never noticed before.

But his mouth was dry as well as his throat, and he figured while he was up he might as well get a drink. There was no counting on falling back asleep without it.

So he felt blindly for the end of the blankets, pushing them down off of him and throwing his legs over the side of the bed, making way for his boxers on the floor; he pulled them on and made his way for the door. In the flooding yellow light

From the hallway he caught a glimpse of Mike sleeping soundly where Bill usually did. He looked peaceful, cute. Stan nodded solemnly to himself before continuing out the door.

Shuffling down the hallway he noticed something peculiar - the door to the room reserved for Bill’s little brother (Georgie, he’d learned his name was) was closed, whereas it was usually wide open. Stan stopped in front of it - curious but having a sneaking feeling Bill was not, in fact, sleeping on the couch. He ghosted his fingers along the wood first - not daring to push it open and risk any light flooding in from the hall - but then applied too much pressure, and it opened silently and slightly, enough for him to peek his head in and peer around. He held the door frame lightly to hold himself up, holding his breath so as not to disturb the figure just a few feet in front of him.

 _Go figure Bill Denbrough wouldn’t sleep on a couch_.

Bill laid still on the small bed, his long legs hanging off the side a bit. He didn’t look like Stan had found him that morning - he laid with his arms open and his mouth slightly agape. He snored softly; this all was a sight Stan had only ever seen up close before now.

Stan felt his heart twist, and he longed to be in those open arms. Longed to fall asleep with them holding him tight, longed to wake up with his head pressed into Bill’s chest and stay there forever.

But visions of the night before began to cloud his mind - visions of Audra taking up the space that was meant for him, visions of Bill looking at him before going upstairs and-

His fingers clenched around the doorframe before pushing himself off of it. He grabbed the knob and pulled the door closed, hearing it latch. It slammed slightly, making him jump, not realizing how hard he’d pulled it.

He held his breath again for a moment, listening for movement, thinking he might have woken Bill up. Maybe he hoped he’d woken him up. Maybe a small sliver of himself hoped Bill would pull open the door and pull him into his arms and they could say sorry and they would be okay.

But there was no sound and Stan knew that wouldn’t have happened anyway. He continued to the kitchen, getting himself a lukewarm glass of water before returning to bed.

He woke up staring at the ceiling and felt warm arms thrown over him in awkward angles and a pulsing in his head. He had to think about what day it was before it occurred to him that it was a Tuesday - perhaps that’s why he woke so early. He had gotten into the habit of waking up before Bill - them making coffee (and Bill drinking orange instead) in the kitchen briefly before Stan got on his tiptoes to tie Bill’s tie and kiss him goodbye.

He didn’t want to look down. He wanted to stay staring at the ceiling and imagining the arms around him were Bill and that the last day and a half-ish had been just one long, heartbreaking dream.

But he wouldn’t let himself be so naive.

Facing reality, he turned his head to find Mike sleeping beside him. Again, he looked cute and peaceful, but he wasn’t Bill.

He tried to wiggle out of Mike’s grip without waking him but failed, Mike’s eyes fluttering open.

“Good morning,” Stan smiled awkwardly.

Mike groaned. “What did we do? My head kills.”

“We had sex - no big deal,” Stan shrugged. But it was.

Stan went to the kitchen - Mike following - noting the door to Georgie’s room was open now. He glanced inside as he passed, unsurprised to find the bed unmade. Bill never made his bed.

He figured maybe Bill had already left for work - and was in for the rude awakening he received when walking through the dining room. Bill was sitting, pouting, his tie untied - staring at Stan and glaring at Mike.

Stan walked past him without second glance.

He and Mike made breakfast in the kitchen together, and Mike tried to fill the tense silence with conversation. He also walked around a lot - consistently getting in Stan’s way. It was funny at first, but annoying the third time around. He wished he would be like Bill - sit on the counter and let Stan do everything. But he didn’t say that out loud, and he supposed this was just getting used to someone new.

At one point, Stan found himself pouring a glass of orange juice out of habit. He always poured Bill’s orange juice while his coffee brewed in the Keurig.

“I thought you didn’t like orange juice,” Mike laughed.

“What?” Stan questioned distractedly. He hadn’t really processed what Mike had said until after the word left his mouth.

“You told me you didn’t like orange juice some time ago - I think a customer asked for it once and you made a comment about it.”

Stan stopped what he was doing, wide-eyed at the glass in his left hand. “They asked for fresh,” Stan swallowed, “I don’t like the pulp.”

And mechanically moved his hand, dumping the glass full into the sink, watching as it swished down the drain.

Mike laughed oddly. “Okay…”

Stan read the carton as he returned it to the confines of the refrigerator.  _No pulp._

Stan gave Mike a ride home, taking the Ferrari without realizing  _again_.

Mike was thankfully quiet for most of the car ride. Stan thought he was cool - but prolonged sociality tended to tire him out, and Bill understood this, but other people did not.

“So why’d you work at Applebee’s if this is your life? No offense or anything, I just means waiters usually don’t live in mansions or drive Ferrari’s.”

Stan wanted to facepalm. This was a stupid move. He tried hard to think of a quick lie before answering.

“Oh… My- my roommate, Bill, he’s a wealthy friend of mine. I’m actually just staying with him for a bit - I think I’ll, uh, be moving out soon. I got, like, kicked out of my old apartment,” He faked a laugh, “I don’t know. He kinda just lets me, like, use his stuff.” He shrugged, hoping he sounded convincing enough. “I had to lie to Beverly about it because she blows everything out of proportion - she thinks I have my own place.” He let his cheeks puff as he exhaled.

“Oh,” Mike smiled, “Your secret’s safe with me, then.” He laughed, “I have to say, though - that Bill guy didn’t seem to fond of me. You guys aren’t, like, a thing - right?”

“Would I have slept with you if I was in a relationship?” Stan laughed and rolled his eyes like this was the most obvious answer in the world, “He just doesn’t like strangers, but he can suck it up for one morning.” Stan lied.

“So you’re not a thing?”

Stan kept his eyes trained seriously on the road. “Not at all.”

“Nice, nice,” Mike nodded, and within a minute they were pulling up to the address he had given Stan. He turned to Stan.

“So was this a one night stand kind of thing?” He asked innocently, “I respect you if it was - but if you  _are_  emotionally available now…”

Stan kicked his lips, thinking somewhat before replying. He felt bad - and decided on lying to hopefully make up for it. Plus, it was only Mike - this could have gone a lot worse for him.

“It… It doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to. We can, like, go on actual dates, now - if that’s what you’re asking.” His cheeks still tinged pink, flattered.

“Great,” Mike smiled again and reached for the door handle, and Stan leaned in - kissing his cheek.

After watching Mike get inside alright, Stan drove back to the house - preparing himself mentally to pour over and over what he was going to do now. He hoped Bill had finally left for work - not wanting to deal with  _that_  ticking time bomb until later. He was tired - emotionally exhausted, to be exact.

Stan tried not to get ahead of himself again - but sighed and rested his head briefly on the steering wheel at a stop sign of a four way, thinking about how the inevitable fight tonight would go down.

But he had hit the horn somehow in his dramatics, and the honk was loud and made him jump up. Just his luck.

Bill was waiting for him when he got home - to his disappointment. His stomach dropped upon sight of the suit-clad man. His tie was still untied.

Stan looked at his feet, avoiding Bill’s eyes. He went to move around Bill and go straight to - well, he didn’t know, anywhere that wasn’t around Bill, but Bill was talking before he could.

“Why did you do that?” His voice was cold, close to yelling, and he was using the stupid strained voice he knew Stan hated. “Two wrongs don’t make a right, you know!”

Stan bitterly wondered how he was so successful with such childish logic. He put on his poker face and continued to avoid the conflict as well as Bill’s glare. “‘Kay.”

He went to slide past Bill, but his wrist was grabbed forcefully, forcing him to do a 180 in an instant, willing his eyes to shoot daggers if they could.

“If you don’t let  _fucking_  go of me-,” He threatened, trying to pull his arm free, but it was no use.

“I asked you a fucking question.” Bill was in his personal space now - almost nose to nose. Stan pulled back farther - the grip on his wrist not letting up in the slightest.

“You first, then,” Stan challenged, face contorted just as angrily as Bill’s, “Tell me why.”

Bill stood at his own full height again, eyes hard on Stan’s. “You really want to fucking kn-know?” He slipped up, “Because I- I-,” He closed his eyes and exhaled loudly, “I’m fucking in love with you. Is that wh-whuh-what you want me to fucking say? Is that what you wuh-want to hear, Stanley?”

Stan’s ears rang, and he was silent. He wanted nothing more than for Bill to let him go - let him go so he could run from this problem like he did with every other one in the past. Bill apparently took his silence as a cue to continue.

“I cuh-can’t fucking stand being without you for even a day. I th-thought it wouldn’t be so horrible going back to being alone just for the week - and I was- I was okay for the first cuh-c-couple of nights but I- I was s-so lonely without you so I w-went out drinking with some friends and shuh-she came and- Jesus Christ, every night without you and nuh-no calls or t-texts, I was luh-l-l-losing my  _fucking mind_ , Stan!”

Bill’s face was desperate, his eyes pleading - Stan could tell this even through tears that brimmed his eyes. Angry tears that threatened to spill over when he moved, speaking.

_You don’t love me; you wouldn’t have done that if you loved me, you would have waited if you loved me. A week isn’t so long to wait - you don’t love me. You don’t love me at all._

“More than once,” Stan croaked. It was meant to come out as a question - but it did so more as a statement. “The first two nights, you said you were fine - and that leaves four nights. Four times. So it _was_ recurring, so you  _lied_  to me.” He yanked for his wrist once more, but Bill held on.

Bill sighed, swallowing. “Y-yes, but th-that’s- that’s not the puh-point, Stan, I-,”

Stan’s heart wrenched in his chest and he felt like he would blow smoke if he breathed too hard, he was furious.

“No, Bill.” He composed himself, blinking back his tears until his vision cleared. He kept his voice cold despite the fire that burned inside of him.

“Wha-,”

“You don’t love me,” It took all of Stan’s composure and self-control not to break; “If you loved me you would’ve waited. If you loved me,  _you_  would’ve called. I’m sorry I enjoyed myself around my family so much it slipped my mind to keep my b- my- my  _whatever we were_ \- entertained. So no, Bill. You don’t love me. I don’t want to hear you say it again.”

Stan could swear he saw the heartbreak in Bill’s eyes, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it arrived. Maybe after everything had sunk in. “Whatever we  _wuh-w-w-were_?” His voice broke, Stan almost breaking with it. “You d-don’t-? You d-didn’t luh-luh-?”

“No, Bill, ” Stan lied, hurt so quick witted before love could begin to find words, “I don’t love you, I didn’t love you.” He realized, then, just how much easier it was to lie than to tell the truth. “This was nothing more to me than fucking and money. You were nothing more to me-,” He coughed lightly to cover a voice crack, he couldn’t let Bill know he was about to cry. “-Than a screw and a bank account.”

Stan couldn’t even manage to look at Bill - and instead opted to look at his shoes, that, ironically, Bill bought him. Bill was silent - and Stan continued.

“The only issue was that I let it get too far -”

_I got carried away, I love you, I’m in love with you. Even now. I thought you were mine. I wanted you to be mine. I was careless, we went too far. We got carried away._

“- and now I need you to  _live_  and I- I don’t know what to do.”

Bill was quiet again, and Stan finally looked up to him to find him looking far away and to his right - catching a tear roll down his left cheek. His lips were pursed before he opened them to speak finally - but Stan had already looked back down to his feet, knowing that if he saw Bill cry, he would cry.

“I’ll cut you a deal then.” His voice was careful and controlled, more strained than Stan had ever heard it.

“What is it?” Stan almost whispered, eyes tracing the scuffs on his shoes.

“We keep- we keep doing what we’re doing. Fucking.” He paused, as if thinking about his terms, “And we can whenever I want. You stay here - and I’ll keep providing. Paying off your loans, whatever.”

“Fine.” Stan agreed - too emotional to properly consider any terms of this contract. He nodded once at the floor and watched Bill’s feet move finally. He looked up.

“Fine.” Bill repeated, moving around Stan now. He grabbed a folder off of the counter that Stan hadn’t noticed before, distracted by the obvious. He moved to the door then, not looking back before slamming it shut behind him.

“Fine.” Stan whispered to himself a last time - now standing alone in a kitchen that seemed to foreign without Bill standing in it with him. A kitchen that seemed so much bigger without Bill - a whole house to emphasize the lonely feeling swelling in his chest.

Tears fell finally, and he considered this feeling. If he were Bill, maybe he would have done the same, he thought.

Anything seems too big for one person when you’re so used to two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> then stan like fuckin. cries to Bleeding Love by leona lewis its canon. hope yall liked this and dont want to fuckin murder me now lmao


	9. nine: dump it down the drain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEYYYY were back on track with the mega smut. sorry this took me over a week but its my longest chapter and its,,, jam fuckin packed so i hope it makes up for my absence! also its MEGA unedited so im,, sorry if that makes it suck ass but im not going to edit it so  
> ALSO KAYLA LOOK AT THAT,,, THE BIRD SANCTUARY MAKES ITS APPEARANCE but surprise i made it sad and angsty im sorry. credit to @dejectingkayla on tumblr for the bird sanctuary idea !!!

The following week consisted of strictly cold shoulders. So icy cold that Stan wouldn’t even look at Bill for the first three days, let alone talk to him.

The only time they spent together, in fact, were their nightly dinners - a norm that neither of them bothered to step out of. Maybe Bill was wishing as hard as Stan was that things could go back to normal, but Stan knew too well that they wouldn’t - so he wondered why he didn’t break it. He wondered why he didn’t simply skip dinner, or eat at a different time, or eat somewhere else - it was plain to see there were plenty other places he could.

But he sat at the dining room table - a few seats away away from his normal spot next to Bill, however - with Bill every night, nonetheless. It didn’t change the painful tensity of the air they shared, and didn’t aid in resolving any of their unspoken issues, but it was something - to Stan, at least.

Stan slept exclusively in the living room on the couch (that night on the floor crooked his back in an excruciating way, and he noted how unfortunately used to Bill’s perfectly comfortable bed he’d become), and only dared enter Bill’s room to retrieve his clothes - some of which he’d taken to just pulling out a day before and keeping in the living room with him.

But he only managed to keep up this behavior for six nights before the growing pain in the right side of his neck became nearly unbearable - and he realized he needed to sleep in a bed again or run the risk of screwing up his neck for good. That, and, he missed sleeping in a warm bed - however less warm it would be without Bill in it.

On the morning of the seventh day, Stan was getting his breakfast together before heading to his classes for the day - Bill doing similar before heading to work.

Being in the kitchen with Bill was the same as it always was - Bill somehow managing to maneuver around Stan without bothering him. It was almost nice.

Stan was making his coffee as he contemplated how he would ask - ask for his own room, his own bed. He looked to the fridge - wondering if he should kiss up, do something even minimally nice for Bill so he would say yes.

So, Stan grabbed down a glass as well as the carton of orange juice, pouring it out and ignoring the part of his mind that chanted  _Dump it down the drain, Stanley! You’re mad at him! Dump it, dump it!_

Stan turned, glass in hand, and managed to catch Bill’s eye - holding the glass out and trying not to seem animatronic. Bill’s lips parted, and he looked at Stan with a puzzled expression for only a moment before taking the cup gingerly from Stan’s gentle hand.

Stan turned back around and waited again.

He waited until he watched Bill begin to tie his tie around his neck - and he wanted to laugh; had no one ever noticed Bill didn’t really know how to tie a tie? How had he never learned? Maybe people were just too kind to mention it - Stan included, even now.

Stan checked the time on his phone on the counter beside him - knowing he needed to leave very shortly and that it was pretty much now or never.

 _You’ve got nothing to lose,_ Richie reminded him from somewhere in the back of his mind,  _Just ask already. Christ, Stanley, this isn’t Deal or No Deal._

“Bill?” Stan spoke finally, trying to keep his voice controlled and monotone despite the timid feeling building behind his eyes. “Um, sleeping on the couch, it really- it really hurts my neck. I want my own room.”

Bill looked to him, watching him. Stan busied himself with grabbing his backpack off of the table.

“Okay.” He answered finally, slowly, and in the strained voice Stan hated.

Stan took this dismissively - a no. An “I don’t care.”

But at least Richie was right - he had nothing to lose by asking.

Stan went to his classes that day and managed to successfully ignore Ben and Beverly - who probably wouldn’t have talked to him even if he had attempted to talk to her, anyway. They were too similar in that aspect - neither of them wanted to apologize first.

He didn’t even see Richie around - and, therefore, had no one to brighten his shitty day (Shitty week, shitty last two weeks).

 _Fake friend_ , Stan tried to joke, but it only left him feeling guilty himself.  _Fake friend_.

If you could trudge while driving home, that’s what Stan would have done. All he wanted to do after the day he had was get home and take a nap - but taking a nap meant sleeping on the couch, so he wasn’t getting his way no matter what, it seemed.

He grabbed at his neck where it ached as he walked through the front door - his eyes being immediately drawn to a sticky note on a cabinet in the kitchen.

_“Stan,_

_Room across the hall from Georgie’s. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner._

_-Bill”_

Stan licked his lips as he read the note again, folding it as he walked up the stairs and to the empty room across from Georgie’s. He knew it was empty - Bill had explained to him before that plenty of the rooms around his house were. He liked to think of himself as a simple guy (Stan thought he was anything but that, sometimes), that didn’t have uses for so many rooms - so he, simply, didn’t use them.

But what Stan discovered when he pushed open the door was that it was, in fact, not empty at all.

There was a beautiful queen sized bed pushed up against the wall in the center of the room, adorned by a white headboard, a light yellow canopy, and flanked by two white bedside tables - matched by a white dresser sitting adjacent to this set up. There was, as well, a desk with a beautifully framed mirror, and a full-body mirror hanging on the light gray walls. And how had Bill not told Stan there was a balcony (which allowed natural sunlight to gleam on the carpeting and illuminate the room around him) - how had Stan not seen it?

Stan favorite addition, however, were the paintings and pictures of birds decorating the walls.

So it was clear that Bill still understood Stan’s tastes, too. It was beautiful - and Stan only stopped admiring it for a moment to wonder how Bill did all of this so quickly when he pulled open one of the dresser drawers and revealed that his clothes were already neatly folded in it - and then swiftly remembered Bill was a multi-millionaire and could have entire houses renovated in days if he so wished. Moving furniture was much simpler.

So Stan got his nap - discovering further the comfortability of the bed as well as the silk sheets. He cursed Bill with a small laugh for making it so hard to be mad at him by being so thoughtful and generous.

Stan was awake by dinner time, he and Bill each taking their seats in silence.

Stan swirled a noodle around his fork for a moment before he realized he wasn’t really that hungry, and he considered for a second that he might not be feeling well. His thoughts wrapped back around to his nap, and then to the room, and then he decided to do something out of what may have become the norm for the second time that day.

“Thank you,” His quiet voice pierces the silence as he looks up to Bill. “For the room, I mean. It’s really beautiful.”

“It was no problem,” Bill looked up to him only momentarily before looking back down at his plate, fork clinking against it.

_That ends that conversation, then._

Stan didn’t know why that bothered him - why it only bothered him now that Bill was choosing not to speak to him - but he swiftly pushed the thought out of his head, focusing instead on the sounds of silverware against glassware since they were the only ones in the room.

After dinner, Stan went to his room again immediately. He figured now that he had his own space again that maybe he should relish his time in it - who knew how long it would last?

He shuddered at the thought.

He was mid-essay when he distracted himself again. He had lost his train of thought due to a thud that caught his attention the minute before - and now stared blankly down at his laptop.

He flashed back to all the times Bill would help him with his homework - his essays especially. Bill had told him that if he wasn’t going to take over his father’s business that he would have liked to major in English, and that someday he wanted to sit down and write his own stories. Stan had liked the idea, he suggested maybe in their old age, in Bill’s retirement.

“Our oh-old age?” Bill had semi-laughed, Stan not thinking too much about his word-choice. “You wuh-w-want to get old with me?”

Stan blushed. “I mean- I guess, I… I wasn’t really thinking about it, it slipped out.”

He looked to Bill from over his shoulder - who looked at him with his eyebrows raised and a soft smile on his lips. He felt his heart swell.

“But sure,” Stan continued, “Why not?”

Stan tried not to think about that too much, now, though.

But it was hard - staring down at his essay. He wished he was sitting on Bill’s lap in the living room all over again - Bill with his glasses on squinting down at the screen over his shoulder, mumbling about verb tense and consistency. The essay he was writing was even about finance, for fuck’s sake, Bill would know especially what to write!

He remembered all the times Bill would do that - help him with conceptual things, as well. All the times he would type things like, “I don’t even need this class or this essay or this grade, I have a sugar daddy, why am I even here” and feel Bill’s chest rumble with laughter behind him. He remembered how warm it made him feel, how in love.

His phone rang suddenly, however, shaking him from his daydreams. He jumped slightly, a gasp escaping his lips at the noise, before reaching over to check the caller I.D.

It was Beverly.

Weary as this made him - unsure if he was going to get yelled at for obviously avoiding her and Ben that day - he picked up anyway.

“Hello?” He answered.

Beverly was speaking miles a minute as soon as the word left his lips. “Hey, Stan, so I, uh, I just wanted to apologize. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I said, and stuff, and how I reacted to the situation - and I think it was… It wasn’t right.” She stated firmly. “I should have handled it better. How you acted hurt my feelings but I should have just talked to you about it and respected you more.” She paused. “So, I’m sorry.”

Stan didn’t take much time to process her words - he’d been waiting for a moment to apologize himself, and now that he had it, he was going to seize it. “I’m sorry, too,” He nodded, biting his lip for only a second before continuing, “I should have clued you in - I shouldn’t have ignored you. I’m just… There’s a lot going on for me right now.” He confessed vaguely.

He wanted to tell her everything. God, he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her how much he loved Bill, the things that had happened in the past four months, everything that had happened since stupid Bill walked into that stupid Applebee’s.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to - couldn’t force his mouth to move or his voice to work.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” Her voice was softer now, sounding de-stressed, “I’m here when you’re ready to tell me.”

“Thanks.” He almost whispered - hoping to avoid the voice crack that he felt coming, caused by the lump forming in his throat.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Stan,” He heard her smile, “I love you - you know that. You’re one of my best friends, even though you’re a stubborn cow.”

That made him laugh, despite the tears welling in his eyes.

“I love you, too, Bev,” He smiled, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

The familiar three beeps signalled that she hung up - and Stan sat still for only a minute before he felt tears streak down and wet his cheeks.

He was grateful to have Bev back - and Ben by association, too - but there was always Bill. There was always the thought of Bill, there was always seeing him in the mornings and evenings, and there was always Bill in all of the secrets he was keeping. There was always Bill.

_…When you’re ready to tell me._

But Stan didn’t know if he ever would be.

He wished he did, just then, on the phone. He wished he blurted it all out, let it all off of his chest - maybe he would feel better. But he didn’t, and now he couldn’t - and he didn’t even know why.

His thoughts circled around back to Audra and he let himself emit a sort of struggle sob, it getting lost somewhere between his throat and his mouth. He felt stupid. He felt ridiculous - he felt like he did so many years ago in high school, crying over people that didn’t care about him and too stubborn and proud to cry for the forgiveness of the people that did.

But, at least, he was glad to finally let it all out.

The next week or so was interesting to say the least. It didn’t fit at all with how things had been going for Bill and Stan - which confused him.

It seemed to have started with the room and everything that came with it, because in the following few days Stan noticed new possessions in his closet and his drawers and on his desk that hadn’t been there before.

For three days, when Stan arrived home from campus, he would find something new - expensive makeup brushes lounging on his desk, a dress he’d never seen before hanging in his closet, and a limited edition (probably collectable, even) version of The Great Gatsby. Stan remembered telling Bill that was his favorite.

After these days, Bill got increasingly bolder - on the fourth day actually holding out a box for Stan to open. He was wordless, but the look in his eyes was hopeful, so Stan carefully accepted the package and went about opening it.

“D-do you like ih-ih-it?” Bill’s voice asked from behind him as he pulled out the Louis Vuitton bag he’d been eyeing a few weeks ago when they’d gone window shopping.

“Yeah,” Stan didn’t have the heart to ask him to stop with all the gifts, didn’t have the heart to tell him this wasn’t going to change his mind - Bill was giving him puppy dog eyes when he turned around. “Yeah, it’s lovely. Thank you.”

And he went to his room.

The days after brought even more conversation (on Bill’s part), a rolex, and new louboutins. Stan didn’t know why Bill had bought those - he only wore them when they went out, and he didn’t plan on going out with Bill again for a long time, if ever. The thought of doing so made him feel sick - but he entertained Bill’s behavior anyway, despite knowing he didn’t really want this. He didn’t want Bill to try to redeem himself this way. Money wasn’t an apology - money didn’t take anything back. Money didn’t un-look Stan in the eyes before going upstairs to- to- Cheat? Stan wasn’t sure.  _To do whatever it was that Bill did_ , he decided, for lack of proper wording,  _that hurt so much_.

But there were bigger things that came with all of this - things Stan didn’t fight as much as he would like to say he did.

Early Saturday afternoon, Stan was in the kitchen making himself a sandwich, Bill - who had just gotten up, and was therefore shirtless and wearing his pajama pants far too low on his waist to be accidental, and was furthermore tempting Stan to stare at him ( _He could have put on a shirt. It would not have killed him to put on a shirt.)_  - was shuffling around behind him.

Stan redirected his train of thought - trying to remind himself of why he was mad at Bill - who was making it increasingly harder to actually be so.

So he grumbled in his head about not having a cook on the weekends - forcing himself to make a silent but sarcastic remark about Bill not rehiring the cook to work weekends because he probably wanted them to start cooking together again.

 _As if!_  He forced an eye roll, but still bit back a sign. Who was he kidding?  _He_  wanted that - but there was still no way in hell it was happening.

Warm hands on his hips made him jump - unexpected (and, lately, unprecedented) contact feeling suddenly new. They pulled him back into Bill - ass to dick. Stan wasn’t sure if he wanted to go along or wiggle away - so he did neither, but instead let his first nature act for him.

Bill was leaning into him and trailing wet kisses down the side of his neck when he snapped, “I’m busy.” - trying to ignore how good it felt and how much he’d missed the feeling of Bill’s hands all over him.

Bill hummed. “I’m ih-in the mood, though,” The kisses continued and his voice was suggestive - but Stan wasn’t giving in that easily. He was used to Bill acting this way when they were- whatever they were doing before the whole Audra thing happened, and he wasn’t going to let it phase him. He pushed thoughts of being turned on from his mind and let sass roll off of his tongue again.

“Okay?” He shrugged with an eye roll, “Go get Audra, then.”

“Nn-mm,” Bill hummed again, Stan feeling the vibrations of it on his skin. “‘Wuh-want my Stanley,” The hands on his hips pulled him closer still, if that were possible, grinding his obvious boner into Stan now, “‘Wanna mm-mm-make you feel good.”

“Go make Audra  _feel good_ ,” Stan mocked harshly - he was hard, too, but Bill couldn’t see that and he wasn’t going to let him know.

“Mmmf, n-no,” Bill grumbled again between kisses, still working his hips against Stan, “I ww-wanna make  _you_  feel good… I wanna m-m-make your legs shake s-ss-so much you can’t hold yoursuh-self up,” His voice was like silk now, and Stan swore he felt a whine coming on - so he swallowed, trying to push it back. “I wanna h-hear you yelling my name-,”

Stan’s jaw clenched, and “Why?” was slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it. Why was Bill doing this? Stan didn’t see any gain he couldn’t get from someone else - why did it have to be him?

Bill chuckled, seemingly amused. “I need new juh-jerk off material,” Stan felt the awfully familiar feeling of Bill’s chest rumbling slightly on his back, “I’ve buh-b-been replaying the same scenes of you fuh-for weeks, now.”

“Why don’t you jack it to scenes of Audra, then?” He spat, “Clearly she gets you off better than I can. Or just buy yourself a porn membership - you’re rich and it’s not like I care what you do,” He lied, as he very much did care what Bill did, “So what’s stopping you?”

But this may have been too far, he quickly discovered, as a wince escaped his lips due to Bill’s tightened grip on his hips.

“In case you’ve ff-forgotten,” Bill was suddenly growling in his ear, “We h-have a deal, princess.” His hands roamed up under Stan’s shirt now - apparently having pulled it out from being tucked into his trousers. “Bedroom, now.”

Stan swallowed, nodding as Bill released him. He tried to play it as cool as he possibly could - rolling his eyes and walking calmly away from Bill (maybe, admittedly, swaying his hips more than he would with any normal walk) - but as soon as he was sure he was out of Bill’s vision, he was hurrying himself upstairs, almost running.

By instinct, he rushed into Bill’s room, discarding his clothes onto the floor before digging around in what was his bedside table for the lube he kept in there for occasions like this.

He was on all fours by the time he noticed Bill standing in the doorway, mouth set into a line and arms crossed across his chest - and Stan admired his body briefly, caught in the moment. The way his arms showed the muscle without trying, the faint abs rippling down his stomach - Stan was practically drooling. He shook his head and went to continue what he had been doing - clicking open the bottle and pouring some out on his fingers - moving to start stretching.

But Bill was quicker than him - already crossing the space to the bed and sitting behind Stan, grabbing his wrist.

“Ah, ah, ah,” He tsked, “We w-won’t be needing this.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed - surely Bill hadn’t gone through all of this just for them not to have sex. “What?”

“I s-ss-said I was gonna m-make you feel good, didn’t I?”

Stan was perplexed again. “I mean, I guess-,”

Stan was cut off swiftly by the shock of Bill lifting him by the waist as if he weighed nothing. Wow, that was new. Stan wondered why he didn’t do that more often - before remembering they hadn’t really had any chances. He reveled in it still, though.

Bill set Stan down farther on the bed, sitting up, and Stan watched Bill fish for something in his bedside drawer.

He pulled out a bottle of pink lube - apparently new, as he tore the plastic off without patience - and Stan briefly wondered what was wrong with the one he was going to use before he caught a whiff of artificial strawberry.  _Oh, so that’s what we’re doing. Okay, then._

He watched Bill position himself so that he was pretty much laying down, his head just below the headboard. “Sit on my face,” He spoke without stutter, and Stan felt his face go red. This was new.

“So s-stubborn,” Bill mumbled, leaning up again to pull Stan toward himself before laying back down again, looking to Stan with his eyebrows raised.

Stan ignored the remark, going along with Bill now - somewhat reluctantly putting his leg over Bill’s face and hanging onto the headboard while he kneeled there for balance.

“C-colo-,”

“Green,” Stan blurted, nerves building in his stomach.

His eyes fluttered closed and he pursed his lips as he felt Bill rub lube-slicked fingers over his asshole, eliciting a shiver as well.

Bill moved onto holding Stan open and teasingly dipping his tongue in and out of him, Stan already whimpering as Bill blew cool air over him.

Stan’s whines only caused Bill to chuckle from under him - enacting the domino effect of Stan’s next demand. “Cut the bullshit,” His teeth gritted and his voice was laced with desperation.

Bill obeyed faster than Stan presumed - instantly lapping and kissing at him, Stan gasping at the abrupt feeling.

By the time he was pressing his tongue into Stan, the boy above was having a hard time holding himself up - despite clinging to the headboard - due to the fact that he was trying to fuck himself onto Bill’s tongue, writhing and grinding, thighs indeed shaking. Bill running his hands up and down the insides certainly did not help any.

He breathed a short-lived sigh of relief when Bill disconnected, grabbing his hips instead - short lived because it was replaced by another gasp as he was flipped over, Bill bending him onto all fours, still, somehow on top of him.

“Hold y-yourself open,” He instructed, voice low.

Stan couldn’t help his voice shaking as he replied, “I d-don’t know if I can hold myself uh-,”

But Bill was ahead of him, a sturdy grip on Stan’s hips lifting him slightly. “Don’t w-worry, baby, - just relax.” He soothed, “I’m guh-gonna hold you, princess, I’ve g-g-got you.”

Stan whimpered and nodded, trying to relax into Bill’s hands and his touch - easing his mind of fears Bill would drop him.

He assumed Bill was going to go right back to eating him out - so he prepared himself this time, right before Bill slipped a finger in, a moan that wasn’t meant to be as loud as it was leaving Stan’s mouth.

Stan fumbled with one hand, reaching for Bill’s clothed dick that had long been creating a tent in his pants. He didn’t waste time with anything - pulling Bill’s pants and boxers in one motion.

“No,” Bill’s voice rang behind him, just as suddenly he slid another finger into Stan - causing him to jolt and moan again. “Ruh-relax, I’m m-making you feel good. Juh-just you.”

“But I- I want to,” Stan complained in reply, pulling his hand away and letting the bands of his boxers and pants snap back up, “You’ve got me fuhhh-fucking drooling over your cock, and you won’t even let me-,” Stan cut himself off with a whimper and Bill started running his tongue along his rim and just under where his fingers were working in and out.

He shut up then, distracted again by his legs shaking all over again, a few minutes ticking by and finding himself moaning out, “Bill, Bill- Ah, ah, yes, Bill!”

He took a hand off of his ass and threaded his hand into the mess of sheets below them. “I can’t- I can’t,” He cried, eyes welling up, not even sure what he was even trying to utter, feeling a familiar warm feeling building in his stomach before it released - waves of pleasure racking his body mercilessly, moans of Bill’s name filling his own ears.

He gripped the sheets as hard as he could while Bill had him ride out his high, disconnecting finally when he was sure Stan was finished.

Stan was panting next to Bill on the mattress by the time it was all over, not even phased by the cum occupying his chest. Bill turned to him just as the tear that was waiting in his eye fell - and as Bill reached out to wipe it away, Stan beat him to it with a mumbled, “Don’t.”

Bill retracted his hand.

They laid and caught their breath together for a moment, Stan - forgetting himself - breaking the silence by quipping, “Is that good enough jerk off material for you?”

Bill laughed, genuinely laughed - and Stan was reminded of what that sounded like and how much he missed hearing it. He let it ring in his ears for a moment before he felt something move between the small space between their bodies.

He felt fingers entwine with his open hand tentatively as Bill answered, “Th-the best I cuh-could ask for.”

Stan knew he should have retracted his hand - he knew he should be mad and act so. He knew he shouldn’t encourage any of this the way he was. He wished he could - but by the time he’d reached this conclusion he deemed that it had been a second too long, and now it was too late to pull his hand away, anyway, right? And Bill’s hand was so warm in comparison to his cold fingertips, it felt nice to press them into his warm skin.

“We should take a bath.” Bill’s softly-spoken suggestion resonated throughout the room, and Stan felt his thumb stroke kindly, gently over his own.

_Yeah, we should._

Stan retracted his hand at lightning speed - mind flashing back to all the baths they’d had before. They weren’t bad, not at all - and that’s why they wouldn’t take another. If they took another, Stan might forgive Bill - and that was something he wasn’t intent on not doing, even if he had no reason to. He wouldn’t tolerate being treated like that, and he’d decided it was going to take more than a bath to make it up to him.

“I’d sooner die than take a bath with you,” He sat up immediately, voice suddenly cold.

“T-too bad,” Bill was cold just as quickly, “It wuh-wasn’t a choice unless you s-s-said yes.”

Stan went to question, but Bill finished without even looking at him - keeping his eyes trained on the ceiling. “I’m fucking you in there.”

Stan’s facade fumbled quickly, “But we just- I just c-,”

Bill cut him off with a motion to his boner - still prominent under his pants.

“I wanted to suck you off,” He argued, “That’s your own fault.”

Bill shrugged. “I duh-didn’t want to cum th-then.”

Stan looked at him, lips in a hard line.

“Luh-look,” Bill huffed, “You d-d-don’t have to if you really don’t want to. If you’re ruh-red,” He turned his head so that he was looking at Stan now, who was flushed pink across his cheeks and chest. He looked Stan up and down, licking his lips, “B-but you want to.”

Stan didn’t answer, unwilling to admit Bill was right, and a minute passed of Bill’s eyes raking his body - as if he could undress him anymore.

“G-go get the water ss-started,” He commanded, turning his head back up to the ceiling and propping it up with his arms.

“Yes, sir,” Stan mumbled, trying not to sound teasing - just wanting to gauge Bill’s reaction. He watched his eyes close and his lips purse before he made his way off of the bed and toward the bathroom.

He filled the tub up only halfway (set to his preferred temperature) all the while keeping in mind the last time they’d done this. They’d filled the bath too much and flooded the floors with the amount of water that spilled over. Bill had shrugged and said the maids would clean it - and Stan reflected on that for a moment.

 _Inconsiderate_ , he mentally noted, adding it to his (admittedly short) list of Bill’s Flaws.

He listened to Bill’s footsteps pad in the bathroom from behind him, and noted from his shadow that he’d leaned up against the counter.

“I almost fuh-forgot how pretty you look on your kn-kn-knees, baby,” He commented, and Stan stood and spun to face (a now-naked) Bill swiftly.

“Better?” He squinted, voice sewn with sarcasm.

He watched Bill’s tongue graze his teeth before changing the subject. “Do wuh-we need to get you worked up again?”

Stan knew the answer, but he was hesitant.  _Yes,_  he said silently - but wasn’t sure if he wanted Bill to touch him, his lack of control over the situation suddenly bothering him, making his skin crawl.

He shrugged.

Bill surprised him again by pulling him in close by the small of his back, gently but fast - as Bill’s face was abruptly in front of his own. He realized it had been a while since he had seen Bill’s eyes so close, and he wasn’t sure why he was surprised to find that they were still the same clear, diamond blue he adored.

“What’s y-your color?” Bill breathed, his lips just ghosting over Stan’s.

“Yellow,” Stan breathed back honestly before his mind had any time to formulate a calculated response.

Bill nudged forward and connected their lips softly for the first time in weeks - and Stan savored it. He savored it like it would be their last, because he didn’t know when the next would come. He realized he never did, just always counted there would be more - and now that this assurance was gone, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to let go.

Their mouths smacked together tenderly while Bill’s hands caressed everywhere he could reach on Stan’s body. Stan ventured out and put his hands up to cup either side of Bill’s jaw and briefly entertained the thought that he could live in this moment for the rest of his life - ignoring his troubles, relishing Bill’s presence.

He felt Bill’s hands travel to his dick, pumping him until he was hard again, and then finally pulling his mouth away. Stan wanted to chase it - but resisted the urge.

“Ruh-ready?” The look in his eyes was soft again now, caring.

Stan nodded - any thought beside Bill and wanting Bill thrown out the window by now.

So Bill turned and sat in the tub with his legs outstretched, and Stan felt nerves crawl in his stomach again.

 _We’ve done this, what, once before?_  He doubted, before shaking his head and trying to focus on Bill again as he climbed in on top of him - he was already stroking himself, watching Stan. Stan felt his cheeks rosy for the umpteenth time.

“You have no patience, do you?” He purred.

“I’ve been patient long enough,” Bill mumbled, reaching up and helping Stan into the water. Stan didn’t pay too much attention to his response, assuming he simply was referring to the fact that he’d been hard since they were in the kitchen. Maybe it was getting painful - whoops.

Bill pulled Stan closer once he was sitting on his legs, Stan placing his hands on Bill’s shoulders like he always did - and Bill placing his on Stan’s hips like he always did. Stan basked in the familiarity of it all - and was reminded that he trusted Bill, at least to this extent.

“Do w-we need to stretch anymore?” Bill inquired, eyes raking Stan’s body in a more innocent way than he had earlier.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

“Are you s-sure?”

“Can we just fuck already?” Stan whined, hands tracing down Bill’s chest for a moment before returning to his shoulders.

“Wh-who’s impatient now?” Bill chuckled, but made no further argument as he aligned himself with Stan’s entrance.

He let Stan do the work, however, probably still weary of hurting him. He was always perfectly careful with Stan.

Stan hissed as he grip on Bill’s shoulders tightened - the pain noticeable, and he thinks, yeah, maybe he should have stretched more. But he continued anyway, deciding it wasn’t bad enough for him to back track.

A few more small strokes and it became comfortable, pleasurable as he adjusted. Water splashed around them already - and then waves and splatters only grew as he started taking longer strokes, their moans mixing as their mouths found their way together again.

Bill’s arms were wrapped fully around him now - pulling Stan flush to his chest and he bounced. The room was thick with sounds of their moans, pants, and mutterings of each other’s names- as well as the  _Sploosh!_  of water around them - some going on the floor beside the tub.

Bill broke their kisses routinely - moving his hands so they were on Stan’s sides, and almost pushing him back - greedily drinking in the sight like he would never see it again.

“You’re so b-b-beautiful, Stan, baby,” He groaned, watching Stan work himself on his cock, “I wuh-wish you knew how beautiful you looked wh-wh-when you ride me.”

Stan, overwhelmed by pleasure for the second time that day, responded similarly - moaning out, “I love riding you, fuck, I love when you look up at me like I invented sex, I love how you feel, I-,”  _I love you._  “-  _Fuck_ Bill!” He didn’t finish, busy throwing his head back in pleasure, feeling his curls bounce against his neck with him, feeling his fingers curl harder into Bill’s shoulders - likely causing angry red marks.

Bill pulled Stan back in once more, “Cum for me again, baby,” mumbled against his lips and into his mouth while they moved sloppily together.

They each came, gasping the other’s air - Bill his usual second after Stan, each riding out their highs on each other - Bill now moving and guiding Stan’s hips for him as he collapsed into Bill’s neck, his existence solely whimpers and moans and  _Ohh, Bill’_ s.

After resting, panting, for a moment, Stan took a washcloth from the side of the bath and scrubbed his stomach and chest with it before standing - done with being in the repulsive water filled with their sweat and other bodily fluids. He didn’t want to think about it.

He took the fluffy towels he’d set out, handing one to Bill, and they dried off before Stan got on his knees again to dry the floor. When Bill joined him, he smiled.

Stan locked himself in his room for the rest of the day.

 _What did I just_ do _?_

Bill’s solution to Stan seeing himself ride him came only two days later.

Bill was waiting for Stan when he got home, sitting on the kitchen counter and causing Stan to look at him puzzedly, lips parted and head cocked.

He hopped of the counter and rushed to Stan, clearly excited. “Hi, baby, weh-welcome home, w-,”

A laugh bubbled from Stan’s throat before he could stop it, feeling Bill starting to paw at his backpack straps. “Slow down, slow down,” He giggled. “Why are you all-?” He motioned to Bill.

“W-we’re trying something n-new today,” He continued pulling the straps down Stan’s arms for him, reaching around and putting it gently on the ground. Stan didn’t like his belongings ever being treated without care, and Bill was always respectful of that, “Two nuh-new things, actually.”

Stan frowned again, novelty of the moment gone as Bill rushed him. He didn’t like to be rushed - who did Bill think he was?

He quirked his eyebrow, thinking as Bill dragged him up the stairs of things he could say.

_Listen, Bill, I don’t want to do this. I don’t want your redemption, I don’t want your money. I want to be left alone._

No, that didn’t sound right. Maybe a simply  _Leave me alone_  would suffice, but that was too harsh.

Stan knew somewhere that he didn’t actually want the attention to stop - he didn’t want to have to stop pretending that things were okay, that nothing ever happened, and that Bill loved him. But he knew it was a lie.

At the same time, this wasn’t even Bill. This wasn’t the Bill that spoke to him seamlessly and confessed all of his thoughts without biting his tongue (even the weird ones, which Stan adored). This wasn’t Bill that held him close at night and talked about life and their futures together.

This Bill was afraid to say the wrong things but at the same time angry - whether at himself or Stan, Stan didn’t really know.

Bottom line, this wasn’t his Bill.

And that was all he really wanted.

Bill tugged Stan into his room, closing the door behind them. Stan was met with a sight of a mirror hung or maybe tacked against the wall, wide and tall.

“You’ve finally caved to your narcissism?” He quipped, second nature taking over.

Bill shook his head as Stan looked over to him. “T-take another guess.”

“We’re feeding your egotism,” Stan joked, “You’re going to sit in front of the mirror and tell me about why you’re so pretty.”

Bill grabbed him around his waist from behind. “Nn-mm,” He hummed, voice low, slipping fingers into the waistband of Stan’s pants, “I’m gonna fuck you in f-front of it, ah-and you’re gonna watch.”

_You’re so b-b-beautiful, Stan, baby… I wuh-wish you knew how beautiful you looked wh-wh-when you ride me._

“Oh,” Stan answered, going to look to Bill again - whose arms were now off of his waist and stripping.

Stan shrugged, keeping the deal in mind, and started undressing himself as well - their clothes in piles on Bill’s floor.

“You m-make a spectacle of everything,” Bill commented, and Stan lifted his head - accidentally meeting Bill’s eyes. He was watching him with wetted lips.

“I’m not even trying?” He half-defended, it coming out more like a question. Bill was already hard.

“I kn-know,” He groaned with an accompanying chuckle, “Th-that’s the problem. It’s all thuh-the time.”

Stan blushed and went back to removing his pants.

Bill seemed to want to get right to it - already having lube out and everything, handing it to Stan. He knew he liked to watch.

So Bill sat back, ghosting over himself now and again, and bit back moans as Stan fucked himself back on his fingers. Stan was as vocal as he pleased to be - he always loved watching Bill squirm.

By the time Bill decided that getting ready was finished, it was obvious Stan _was_ trying to make a spectacle - and obvious that it worked, judging by Bill’s bottom lip being caught between his teeth and his hand fully stroking himself at that point.

He ended it by taking Stan by the waist and pulling him closer, growling, “You’re s-so fucking as-ss-king for it.”

Stan went to sit facing Bill like he usually did when he was on top, placing his hands on Bill’s shoulders - confused for a moment when Bill shook his head and redirected him.

“No, baby,” Bill explained as he turned Stan around,”I want y-you to watch in the mm-mirror.”

Stan complied with Bill’s request, looking up from the sheets and to the mirror - his mouth falling open slightly at his reflection - Bill had barely touched him, if that, and he already looked thoroughly fucked out. He couldn’t imagine what he looked like when they were actually fucking - he didn’t know if he wanted to.

He watched in the mirror and Bill rubbed lube on underneath him, and though he could see, still gasped sharply at the feeling of Bill pulling him down rather forcefully. He saw his own mouth drop open wide, but there wasn’t much pain if any, so he stroked himself on Bill and fell into rhythm easily - the man below him groaning already.

He mumbled nothings in Stan’s ear from over his shoulder, coupling them with sweet kisses to his bare skin. “You’re alwuh-ways so tight,” He moaned among other things.

Stan wasn’t really paying attention - his eyes glued to the mirror like it was a phone screen, too busy moaning and watching them fuck like pornstars. Watching Bill’s dick appear and then disappear inside of him was driving him insane - and realized he loved seeing it just as much as he loved feeling it, twice as much when they were coupled.

“I love how you feel inside me,” His thoughts prompted him, “Fuhhh-Fill me up so good.” He forgot himself, and clenched his eyes closed - throwing his head back.

A sharp spank to his ass brought him back, eyes popping open and body jolting upright - an “Ah!” leaving his mouth.

“Kuh-keep your eyes open, princess,” Bill’s voice was soft in his command, and Stan noticed now that he was looking on from over Stan’s shoulder as well as still placing gentle kisses there. “I w-w-want you to see how beautif-ful you look on my cock,” Another kiss placed to his shoulder, “Look at yourself.”

Stan obeyed again with a whimper, and once again drank in the sight of his mouth fallen open with moans and Bill’s hands roaming his sides and the panting movement of his chest. He looked even more fucked out now, halo of curls bouncing around his head in time with his own bounces.

“Oh, Bill- Oh, Bill, baby-,” He managed to get out, trying to communicate that he was on the edge. Bill seemed to understand, and reached one hand around Stan to pump him.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Stan moaned in return - watching all of this go down in their reflection.

White ribbons painted his chest within seconds - but Bill didn’t stop like he’d expected. He kept stroking him, helping him to continue moving his hips up and down with his other hand. Stan watched helplessly as he felt limp with pleasure - almost pained with it as Bill kept him going.

“Overstimulation,” Bill kissed his shoulder again, and that was the only explanation he was given and he pressed on.

Stan whimpered all the way - and when Bill accidentally rocked his hips down in an angle that caused Bill’s dick to brush against his prostate.

“Ah, ah! Stop, stop,” He cried, panting.

Bill obeyed, suddenly seeming panicked, and Stan whined again.

Bill hesitated, before slowly articulating, “What’s your c-color?”

“Mmf,” Stan mumbled, “Green,  _fuck_.”

There wasn’t even prospect of cumming at this point - only possibility of making Bill cum, which became motivation to stick it through. So Stan continued riding Bill, watching a tear roll down his cheek from his now hypersensitive nerves, until he was practically begging, “Bill, baby, please- please cum for me, I can’t take it much longer-,”

“Yeah, I-I’m, I’m-,” Bill cut himself off with a long groan, Stan only having to endure a few more thrust before Bill picked him up by his waist and gently off of him - Stan going along and moving himself so that he was laying beside Bill, both of them trying to catch their breath. Bill grabbed out the wipes he’d started keeping in his bedside table for moments like this a while ago - Stan couldn’t remember when.

Stan let Bill wipe at his cheeks with the pads of his thumbs this time, before instinctively huddling close into the warm body next to him - at some point falling into a peaceful nap in Bill’s bed with Bill’s body as his pillow.

But when he woke up with a sleeping Bill’s arms tangled around him, he replaced them with a pillow and went to his own room, settling in his own colder bed.

The most extravagant gift, however, was yet to come.

Bill insisted one morning that they were going out nearly the minute Stan came downstairs. He cursed Bill silently for memorizing his schedule (Wake up at eight, get dressed at eight fifteen, eat breakfast at eight thirty) and made a mental note to switch it up so Bill couldn’t catch himm off guard again.

Stan didn’t know where they were going, only that Bill seemed to excited that he didn’t bother arguing with him when he was ask to get in the car.

But he knew Stan didn’t like surprises - so Stan wasn’t going to act happy about this.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked, eyes on Bill’s yellow sweater sleeve that rested against the steering wheel.

“You’ll s-see,” He smiled. Stan squinted.

Stan didn’t catch any signs before they pulled up to a large gray building - and after looking around for any clues in his surroundings, he realized Bill was already out the door and outside of his, opening it for him and helping him out.

“Thanks,” Stan said awkwardly. They hadn’t done anything like this since before he left for his parents’, and he felt unsure of it now. He didn’t trust it. He felt uncomfortable, uneasy, and he wanted to go home.

Stan hated surprises.

“Cuh-cuh-close your eyes,” Bill prompted, still jittery with excitement.

“But I-,”

“I h-have a blindfold in thuh-the back pocket of my jeans,” Bill raised his eyebrows, “So the ea-easy way or the h-hard way?”

Stan sighed and put his hand over his eyes, letting Bill hold his other one - which, admittedly, made him feel a little better, though Bill was the one causing all of this.

“N-no peeking.”

Stan nodded.

He could tell by the sounds of doors that Bill had taken him inside the building, but then by more doors and sudden bird chirps that they were outside again.

But it was an unusual amount of bird chirps - and they were loud. They were close. Stan tried to listen and try to rack his brain for specific calls he recognized, but there were too many blended together.

“Okay,” Bill breathed, squeezing his hand before dropping it, the appendage falling limp against his side again. “Op-pen your eyes.”

When he lifted his hand from his face and opened his eyes, his mouth fell open. He could barely get words out.

They were standing in front of a large archway that stood in front of a green forest-looking brush, the big letters decorating it spelling out, “STANLEY’S SANCTUARY.”

He stared at it in awe for a moment before speaking, his heart beating fast. “Is this for-” He pointed to himself, but Bill cut him off, still clearly joyful.

“Y-yes, it’s for you,”He spoke fast, and there was a dorky smile taking up his face, “I guh-got it for you and I even l-l-learned a bunch of things about b-birds and I remembered all of yuh-your favorite native ones and n-now they’re here and you w-w-won’t have to look for new spots to buh-buh-birdwatch anymore because they’re all right h-here.”

Stan didn’t speak, his eyes instead scanned over the scene before him over and over again, a knot growing in his stomach. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want this at all.

“S-Stan?” Bill questioned, causing Stan to look up at him. The excitement seemed to have faded, maybe due to Stan’s lack of enthusiasm, and he looked concerned.

“Why did you…” Stan swallowed, not thinking before he spoke, overwhelmed. “Why did you do all this?” He half-whispered, looking to the sanctuary again before turning back to Bill.

Bill cocked his head in a confused fashion, eyes looking pleading. “Because I love you,” He answered, like it was obvious, “Because I want you to be happy.”

Stan looked away, ignoring the pain that was growing in the pit of his stomach.

 _I love you, too,_  His mind sighed,  _But I’m not happy._

“Th-thank you, Bill,” He finally managed to stutter out. “It’s- it’s wonderful. It’s amazing.” He pursed his lips. He felt like an embarrassed child. “Can I go home now?” Suddenly the scuffs on his shoes were very eye-catching.

“O-okay,” Stan glanced up at Bill for only a moment before catching the obvious heartbroken look and avoiding his stare once again, “Sh-sh-sure.”

The ride home was silent in all aspects but Stan’s mind.

He was tired. He could use a nap. He could use a vacation - a vacation back to his old life when things weren’t so complicated. When getting up in the morning and not finding someone he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive didn’t take an emotional toll. When he was  _almost_  there, just needed a couple extra bucks to get himself together.

And now look where he is. Depleted of his own resources - short more than just a couple bucks to get out of this situation. He knew he had made a safe home in the bank account of Bill Denbrough, but he didn’t want to be financially dependent like this if it meant all of the stupid things that came with it.

He wanted Bill, but there was no Bill without his forgiveness, and he couldn’t manage to give it just yet.

He thought about all of this even after they got home - immediately going to his room, locking the door, and pacing for several hours - occasionally looking at his phone and wondering if he should call Beverly or Richie or Ben or maybe even Eddie, just anyone who would listen.

But he didn’t, and ended up falling asleep instead - because he was tired.

Dinner that night was as silent as it was when they were ignoring each other that first week, and it left a bitter taste in Stan’s mouth. He felt now that maybe he should have appreciated the mindless chatter from Bill that had taken place all this week more - because now that it was gone, it felt like he was completely alone in the room.

His spoon clinked against his bowl.

A painful twenty minutes of silence went by before Bill finally spoke. “So wh-what was earlier all ab-bout?”

Stan looked up at him to find he was also staring intently into his food, and Stan went back to doing the same, unanswering.

He winced silently when he noticed Bill’s grip on his spoon tighten from the corner of his eye and heard him huff.

“What d-d-do you want from m-me, Stan?” His voice was agitated, and Stan tried not to seem phased.

“Nothing.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as possible.

“Cuh-clearly that’s not the case, or y-you wouldn’t be acting like this. I’ve buh-b-been doing everything in my p-power to make you happy - I’ve b-been getting the best money c-c-can buy for you-”

“Maybe I don’t want your money,” Stan suggested coldly, his new tone surprising even himself, and his spooned clanged loudly as he dropped it fully into his bowl. He stared at it, he watched the shiny metal be drowned in the thick cream-yellow of the soup.

“You-,” He sounded angry now, “M-my money is thuh-the entire fucking reason w-we’re even here-,”

“Just stop trying, Bill.” He doesn’t look up once, but instead watches Bill’s movements as best he can through his peripheral vision - not giving him the satisfaction.

He saw Bill’s figure mvoe to stand from the table before demanding, “Ups-stairs, now.”

“No.”

“What d-did you just say t-to me?” He sounded dominatingly incredulous - and Stan couldn’t believe he didn’t  _fucking_  get it. This wasn’t a part of some kinky sex game to Stan - these were his feelings.

“No. Red. ” Stan felt his jaw clench, but he stayed calm, “I don’t want to, I’m not going to.”

Bill didn’t make any further argument - simply left Stan at the table into the other room. Stan lifted his head, finally, before hearing the closet door open and shut, the same then from the front door - that, however, being slammed.

So Stan stayed alone in the house for the next few hours. He finally got around to looking through all the rooms - and he would never admit it, but he got lost twice. He understood why Bill felt lonely here - not that it constituted anything he did to cope with it was right or justified, but Stan understood.

When it came down to it, Stan realized, he had Bill had understandings. Bill knew his way around Stan, and Stan his way around Bill. Stan sighed - they fit together like a glove, like puzzle pieces. He didn’t know if he would find anything like this again - and it scared him.

The thought of not having Bill, in general, scared him.

But he would never admit that.

Some rooms in the house were as empty as his had probably been before Bill made it up for him, and he can’t believe he’d never stopped to notice how empty the house really was, always too captured by Bill’s presence. Bill made it feel full, not as lonely and big as it was - not reflecting of the way his heart felt now. Heavy, empty, hollow. Too big now only because it was missing something.

He hung out in his own room for a long while, too, mainly laying on his bed - or spending a few minutes getting some cold air on his balcony.

He rolled on his bed for the umpteenth time that evening before reflecting on how much time had actually gone by since Bill left - prompting him to sit upright and check the time.

It was going on 12 - meaning it had been almost six hours since Bill left.

Stan didn’t know why he felt a sudden pit form in his stomach, but it was irrefutable.

He didn’t want to get as worked up and worked as he did - but within the next half hour he was pacing around his room, praying Bill hadn’t taken him off of his emergency contacts list. He even started racking his brain for Bill’s medical essentials - A blood-type, Penicillin allergy, organ donor…  _What else, what else?_

What if his last words to Bill had been - had been… Whatever they were? Not nice, not a profession of his love, not any forgiveness. Stan doubted for a moment if his pride was worth any of this - suddenly overwhelmed with deep thoughts about the fragility of life.

Stan tried to step back - taking a few deep breaths and back track his thoughts. Bill probably wasn’t dead, he probably wasn’t hurt. Granted, he’d never disappeared for hours at a time before, but he probably wasn’t in the hospital with a life threatening injury right now.

He heard the door slam open downstairs.

He gasped and jumped, startled by the noise, and almost assumed it was an intruder - except for the fact that Bill kept the best security system on the market and there was no way anyone unauthorized could get past it. So there were a limited amount of people it could be - and only one who would slam it.

He didn’t move from his spot in the middle of his floor - stopped mid-pace - unsure why. HE would think after the thoughts he’d had that he would go running to Bill, forgiving him, confessing everything, making things alright again.

But when he heard more than one person’s footsteps stumbling up the stairs and down the hall, he realized that was the last thing on his life‘s to-do list - if it made it on there at all.

But he knew it had for sure fallen off when he heard moans coming from the room at the end of the hall.

This went on for an indefinite amount of nights - Bill bringing home women, or men, so much so that Stan began to get used to it. He would once over their appearances and go to his room and pretend that it didn’t hurt - busy himself with homework or watching youtube videos of things that would make him forget about whatever was going on in Bill’s bed.

They were always gone by the time he got up in the morning.

He texted Mike, too, and sometimes called. It was a nice relief - having someone to talk to that didn’t think there was anything wrong with him like Beverly seemed to. He still couldn’t bring himself to tell her - he had other things on his mind, anyway. Eventually, he would, he told himself - but he doubted the truth in it.

As things grew tenser between Bill and Stan (It was like the first week all over again - they barely spoke unless they needed to, which wasn’t often. They wouldn’t even ask one another to pass the salt, they would each ridiculously stretch across the table and get it themselves. Stan sat even farther away.), Stan started seeing Mike increasingly often - and texting Beverly and Ben. He tried reaching out to Richie - but his texts were rarely returned, which was odd, but Stan tried not to sweat it. He was exhausted as it was.

He also tried not to sweat the sting in his heart every night - when Bill went out after dinner and Stan knew what he was up to, and then the anger he felt watching Bill not even look at him as he passed him on his way to what used to be their bedroom - someone new hanging off his lips every time. Stan hoped he was using protection - he was sure (hoped?) Bill would take him up on their little deal again soon, and he didn’t want Bill to get any STDs in the meantime.

In retaliation, or poetic justice, or maybe to just have something to do - Stan began going out with Mike. Not usually dinners, usually lunch or brunch dates. Stan thought it was cute, he enjoyed Mike’s company genuinely - and at the same time, he didn’t want Bill to know as much as he did want him to know. He wanted to be noticed by the object of his true affections, he wanted to attention, he wanted Bill to look at him, to  _see_  him - as it seemed he never did. But at the same time, being with Mike was like a safe haven. A new, fresh face, a new person to get to know, something like a guilty pleasure.

Stan felt conflicted - and guilty about it - but went along the way he did anyway, some days being overly obvious about Mike and others acting as if their relationship was completely lucrative.

The first time Mike took Stan out to dinner, Stan was honest with Bill without trying to rub it in his face.

“I’m going out,” He’d licked his lips, hand on the doorknob.

“Where?” Bill asked, voice absent-minded and strained from where he was sat at the dining room table, and flipped the page to something he was reading.

“To dinner with Mike. I don’t know where he’s taking me.”

“Okay.” Another page flip.

Stan’s heart gave a tug, and he left then, out to Mike’s car that was waiting out front.

It had gone well - Stan pretended the small incident in the kitchen wasn’t bothering him and made conversation with Mike on the way to the place.

He wasn’t sure why he was surprised when Mike didn’t take him somewhere high-end - maybe he needed to take this whole sugar baby (was he even that anymore?) thing down a notch. His standards were getting way too high.

He also wasn’t sure why he let ordering their meals go down the way it did.

“And for you, sir?”

Stan had spaced out, thinking about nothing in particular, rather focused on seeming like nothing was wrong when so many things were.

He was shaken when Mike waved his hand in front of his face.

“Stan?” He asked with a laugh, and Stan smiled sheepishly.

“Excuse me,” Stan apologized. “I zoned out, what?”

Mike nodded to the waitress waiting beside their table.

“Uh,” Stan fumbled. He hadn’t even looked at the menu - Bill always ordered for him, so he never needed to. “I thought you were gonna order for me.” He confessed with nervous laughter. Mike quirked his eyebrow at him, but didn’t question it.

“He’ll have what I’m having.” He nodded with a smile, and the waitress jotted down on her notepad before awkwardly smiling and walking away.

 _Nice one, Mr. Smooth,_  Richie in his head rolled his eyes at Stan.

“I’m so sorry,” He tried to laugh it off, “It’s just, uh, usually my date orders for me. Whenever I’ve gone out with someone, that’s happened.” It was technically only half of a lie.

“Don’t sweat it,” Mike grinned at him with that perfect, straight toothed, blindingly white smile, but not sweating it was the opposite of what Stan was doing. “You must be used to dating some pretty high-end people I guess,” He shrugged, the remark seeming to be absent-minded, “I just hope you don’t think that’s me. I mean, I can order for you when we go out to dinner, but I’m not too educated on high class other than that.” He chuckled.

Stan swallowed, hoping his embarrassment and anxiety wasn’t noticeable. “You don’t have to be,” Was it hot in there? “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just do it myself next time.”

After receiving their food, Stan decided that would be a promise he would keep - he didn’t like it. He hadn’t thought about the consequences of letting someone that didn’t know his pickiness order his food for him - but now he knew that he’d made a mistake.

Mike must have noticed when he merely moved his food around his plate like a picky child (himself circa age six).

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, eyebrows scrunched up in sincere concern.

“Ah, to be honest, no,” Stan faked, holding his stomach for good measure, “I didn’t wanna ruin anything, but I’m really not feeling well,” More lies, “Could you take me home? I can pay half the check.”

Mike nodded quickly before laughing, “I might not be high-class, but I still don’t go dutch.”

“I’m not a woman,” Stan quipped back.

“But you’re a bottom,” Mike joked, already walking off to pay the check.

Stan blushed.

The car ride back to Bill’s was nice - Stan didn’t even think about Bill the whole way there.They cracked the windows and they talked about everything and nothing - and they listened to the radio. Stan changed the station when he heard a familiar chorus:

_All for freedom, and for pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever-_

“Don’t like eighties music?” Mike inquired, and Stan was grateful that it was dark and that his eyes were on the road or else he might catch the scowl that Stan wasn’t doing very well at hiding.

“No,” He shook his head.  _Now whip it, whip it good._  “Just hate that song. It’s morbid.”

Stan would be lying if he said he didn’t admire Mike on the ride home - watching the colors of traffic lights gleam on his brown skin. He looked pretty, really pretty.

But driving with Mike in his jeep wasn’t like driving with Bill in any of his toys - maybe because they didn’t sing along to the radio, or maybe because the engine made more noise, or maybe simply because Mike wasn’t Bill and that would be that. Stan didn’t know, but he tried not to dedicate too much thought to it.

Mike pulled up to the gate and they stopped and looked at each other. The car light hadn’t come on -  so it was hard to make out Mike’s face clearly, but the soft light emitting from the house gave a little glow.

It wasn’t clear to Stan who leaned in first, but suddenly there were lips on his and he was working against them with the same passion meanwhile pushing thoughts of Bill away. He couldn’t keep his eyes closed for more than a few seconds, fearing he might actually start to see Bill behind them.

“Do you want to come inside?” Stan breathed, pulling away, “Suddenly, I’m feeling better.”

He watched Mike nod, lips parted slightly, probably wet from their small makeout session.

 _This is fine,_  Stan tried to reassure himself as he opened the gate for Mike, allowing him to pull up the driveway,  _Bill does this all the time. Why should it matter if I do it? This is fine._

He led Mike early to the front door - typing in all the passcodes necessary to disarm the security system (he playfully made Mike close his eyes - but, in actuality, he knew Bill would kill him if anyone else knew the passcode beside the people he gave explicit permission).

 _You’re just getting even,_  Richie reassured him, too,  _I mean, he’s been a dick lately - trying to buy you back like it’s that easy and then being a total pissbaby about it when things didn’t go his way for once in his life. You’re fine._

Stan pulled Mike down for another kiss as they stepped over the threshold - making them stumble and laugh a bit. It seemed awfully familiar.

Ignoring thoughts of the other man that lived here once again, Stan smiled cheesily up at Mike, who smiled back down before there was an abrupt clearing of someone throat, making them both turn their heads to the figure standing in the kitchen.

“Stanley,” Bill addressed him, straightening his shirt. “I was hoping we could-,” he coughed, “-talk.”

Stan tried to sound as normal as he possibly could, and refused eye contact with Bill. “I’m kind of busy,” He laughed breathily, hands still on Mike’s shoulders, “Plus, I thought you were bringing someone home tonight?”

_Of course he picked the one night I’m going to get laid to pull this bullshit. Of course._

Bill didn’t say anything, and Stan looked back to Mike, whispering a “Sorry,” before leading him to his room. Mike didn’t seem all that phased - just as eager as he was before.

The sex was generic in Stan’s opinion. Again, not bad - but he couldn’t help but imagine Bill when he closed his eyes for a second too long, which made those tiny moments that much better. He bit his tongue to keep the other man’s name from rolling off of his tongue in the heat of the moment, and elected calling Mike, ‘baby’ instead of anything else.

Generic enough.

This became frequent - not as frequent as Bill brought people home, but still once or twice a week. Stan started to get used to falling asleep in Mike’s arms and waking up to Mike’s kisses on his forehead instead of Bill’s snores in his ear - but he kind of missed the sound. Mike never snored.

Stan always rejected Mike’s suggestions of using his house even just once - but not really knowing why. Surely Bill would see him more if he wasn’t there - but it was the eyes. Bill’s eyes on him justified what he was doing, in a fucked up way. He knew it was fucked up.

But wasn’t what Bill was doing fucked up in the same way? Using people that weren’t Stan to satiate his desires, console his emotions.

And not even that worked for him, clearly, as Stan came from home from dinner with Mike one night to find Bill sitting idly on the couch, nursing a beer bottle.

It puzzled Stan, he only ever saw Bill drink when they were out, and even then it was expensive things or whiskey he liked - but he ignored it overall, continuing to his room to get changed for the night. He had homework to do that he’d been putting off - and since Mike hadn’t come over tonight after all, he figured he might as well crack his books open.

A minute before he could finished getting dressed for bed, however, there was a soft knock on his door. “Ss-Stanley?”

It wasn’t locked, so Stan didn’t know why Bill didn’t simply intrude - but he was reminded Bill respected him always. He wished he could say his heart didn’t flutter as he pulled a shirt over his head and went to greet his visitor.

Bill was clearly tipsy enough to forget himself - latching onto Stan’s neck the minute he opened the door. Stan felt him trying to suck hickies into the skin, but coupled with mumbles of, “I nuh-need you,” it didn’t go so well. Stan knew he couldn’t let Bill do that, anyway - lest Mike see them and know they weren’t his.

“No hickies,” Stan instructed softly, sighing, putting his hands on Bill’s shoulders to push him up and away from his neck. He was too tired and Bill was too tipsy for him to react angrily to this situation.

Bill sighed in return and nodded, seeming to understand, swooping back in and simply placing lazy, chaste kisses in the same spots he was sucking seconds prior. Stan felt his fingertips brush the skin just under the large t-shirt he was wearing - and only then did he realize it was Bill’s. He wondered what it was doing in his drawers as he shuddered from the coolness of Bill’s fingers against the warm skin of his waist, grazing up and down and repeating that in a somewhat soothing motion. It would have been more soothing if Bill was as warm as he usually was - hands probably cold from the bottle.

“You’re not sober,” Stan mumbled, “We can’t do this.” He put his hands on Bill’s forearms, trying to hold him still. Bill’s mouth quickly trailed along his jawline and he tried not to let it be obvious that his breathing was speeding up by the second - along with his heartbeats.

“So? I-m-m’only tipsy,” His breath fanned hot across Stan’s cheek and brushed his ear - the skin there prickling, “I’m nuh-n-not that bad, My cah-cuh-consent isn’t imp-paired.”

When Stan didn’t answer - turning it over in his mind - Bill continued his persuasion.

He ground his hips into Stan, and, sure enough, he was hard - Stan hadn’t even noticed, beyond too focused on how soft his touches had been. “I nuh-n-need you, Stanley, b-baby,” He whined, “ _Please_.”

His hands were gripping Stan’s hips now, pulling their bodies flush together, and Stan gulped. He wanted Bill - so, so bad - but he was unsure.

“Okay,” He decided finally, “Okay.”

“Thhhh-hank fuck,” Bill breathed, nosing at Stan’s face and connecting their lips, his kiss soft and desperate - and it felt to Stan like he was savoring it. Stan knew the feeling.

The sex was vanilla - not boring, necessarily, nothing was ever boring was Bill - but meaningless. Not as good as it was when there were ‘I love you’s on the tip of his tongue, not as good as when Bill twirled his hair and told him how good he was doing, not as good as before.

Stan didn’t like it, but it was making him cum, and became some of the only attention he could get from Bill, so he took what the universe allotted him.

It all became routine - even fucking in Stan’s room instead of Bill’s became part of it. A couple times a week, whenever Stan didn’t have Mike over and Bill was in the mood but didn’t feel like going out and getting someone.

Every time, after they came, Bill flopped down next to Stan on his bed with a thud, or Stan next to Bill, and they’d breath together for only a minute before Stan would get up to shower.

“I’m going to take shower,” Stan had told him that first time, his hair feeling sweaty as he’d had to do most of the fucking himself (power bottoming took a lot more effort than it seemed to) due to Bill’s partial intoxication and Stan’s impatience.

Bill had looked up and him from the bed. “Oh-okay, c-can I-?”

Stan didn’t let him finish, already knowing he was going to ask to come. It was the bath situation all over again - but Stan wouldn’t let himself be fooled by Bill a third time.

“No.”

Bill didn’t ask again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DONT BEAT MY ASS I KNOW ITS KINDA SAD AND FUCKED BUT,,,, it all comes together…soon…maybe…perhaps. or maybe im just elling u this so that u guys can suffer more in next chapters. who knows, honestly


	10. knowing who ends your nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit this chapter took me so fucking long i am so sorry for the wait!!! the first scene was something im not used to writing and probably will never write again bc it was not a good experience to write but yanno. try everything once. 
> 
> BIG OL CREDIT TO MY FAVORITE PERSON IN THE WORLD LILS @royalstanley (on tumblr)I LOVE YOU BABY YOU’RE SO WELL-ENDOWED WITH AMAZING IDEAS (basically we collabed on ideas for this chapter uwu) also to my other favorite person in the whole wide world bill @staunris (on tumblr) for basically being my beta i love u baby uwu thanks for liking my garbage

Through and through, Stan hated the fact that Bill  _still_  made it hard to be angry with him. Even now that he felt like Bill truly was only using him for sex, he made it difficult to look at him and be angry.

Stan felt like he could breathe fire when he thought about it.

Bill was always awfully respectful, always asked Stan’s color, and never forced Stan to have sex with him when Stan didn’t explicitly want to - but that was unfortunately rare.

But then Bill would bring someone else home and remind Stan why he was angry all over again by forcing him to listen to someone else moan his name the way Stan only did, and, in his opinion, only he should - so Stan supposed it worked out.

But he swore he’d heard Bill moan his name on more than one occasion.

It brought him some sense of odd satisfaction. It was slightly satisfying to know that Bill wasn’t past him - was closing his eyes and imagining Stan like Stan was with him.

No offense to Mike, things just felt better when he did that. He wasn’t proud of it, but he could admit it to himself, at least.

As much as Stan wanted to ignore the fact that he wanted Bill, he couldn’t - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hide it from Bill. He never initiated, never paid Bill mind other than when they were in bed - in fact, he let them fall into the same silence of that first week - but with more sex and less tears. He was used to things being like this by now.

All up until one particular night.

Mike had been swamped with work, having taken up a job babysitting for his aunt for a week and a half - and therefore hadn’t had much time for Stan. They still went out and saw each other, but he didn’t come home with Stan afterwards like they usually did.

To put it simply, after the first week, Stan was getting antsy - craving touches and caresses. It could be from anyone, he supposed, but there was only one person, really, that he wanted.

So, on a night Bill oddly had no one over and hadn’t made any moves (He wasn’t very subtle when he wanted to fuck Stan - usually telling him straight up over dinner, “I’m fucking you tonight.”), Stan put his plan into action.

There was no way that he was going to  _ask_  Bill to have sex with him, he was beyond too prideful for that, so he simply licked his lips and got up from his bed, saving the essay he’d been writing and shutting his laptop, moving it out of the way. He grabbed the bottle of lube from off of his nightstand before uncapping it and looking to his door, making sure it was unlocked.

He got to work immediately, finding it tantalizingly easy to pretend it was Bill’s fingertips tracing over his skin rather than his own, and he didn’t dare open his eyes for a moment - fearing it would disappear.

He made a point to moan louder than he usually would for anyone - he needed it to be loud enough to get Bill’s attention from his own room, which Stan was sure he was doing fuck-nothing in, as he knew Bill did when he was bored.

_Not for long._

He found his hypothesis to be true when there came a feeble, soft knock on the door accompanied by, “…S-Stan?”

Stan didn’t answer - Bill hated being ignored - and kept moving his fingers in and out of himself, trying to focus on the drag and pretending Bill was already there behind him.

Within minutes, Stan was opening his eyes to the sound of the door swinging open and the sight of Bill standing in the doorway, arms crossed. It was too familiar.

Stan’s only issue was his expression - blank. Completely unbothered.

But he only took that as a challenge.

“Mmf,” He moaned, squeezing his eyes closed again as he added a third finger, “Fingers,” Another moan, “Not enough, Bill…”

Nothing.

“I need you,” He fucked himself back on his fingers harder for emphasis, “I need your big cock, ‘need you to fuck me, please, please…” He tried to play on Bill’s ego, and heard a shuffle, but didn’t risk opening his eyes and ruining his act.

Instead, he ran his free hand teasingly slowly up his body to his neck, wrapping delicate fingers around soft skin and squeezing the sides. “Harder,” He moaned as he did so, opening his eyes and shooting Bill - who was standing further in the room, now, tent in his sweatpants and cheeks red - the most pleading look he could manage. “I need it harder, Bill.”

Stan bit back a smirk watching Bill tear off his gray sweatpants and boxers, all the while discarding his shirt in, somehow, under ten seconds.

Stan tossed him the condom from his bedside table he’d deliberately placed there earlier and watched as Bill rolled it on before slipping out of his line of sight behind him - pushing in roughly and fully, no warning.

Bill’s forehead rested on Stan’s shoulders for the majority, Stan’s voice the only sound in the room other than skin slapping skin.

“Ah, Bill, there, there,” He’d moan - Bill only groaning and grunting in response. It bothered Stan more than it should have, perhaps, Bill’s lack of communication. It made him grit his teeth and fuck back on Bill harder, hoping that if he had some power over the situation that he’d saying  _something_ , at least.

“Can you fucking say something?” Stan ground out eventually, Bill still pounding into him. Bill stopped his hands that were running up and down Stan’s sides to grip his hips firmly, thrusts getting sloppier as he did so.

“G-gah-gonna cum,” He half-mumbled, half-moaned - and in seconds Stan was wiggling away from him.

“Stop, stop,” He demanded as he pulled away, and Bill did, letting him pull away without resistance.

Stan gulped and looked at Bill for a long moment, tongue running over his lips again. Bill sat back on his legs and looked at Stan with a confused, careful expression.

Stan ran his tongue across his teeth before he spoke. “You always have to have it your way, don’t you, little rich boy?”

Stan moved his hand to gently cup Bill’s cheek, and leaned up so he was on his knees over the other man.

He felt Bill lean into the touch, his cheek warm against Stan’s palm and his eyes fluttering closed, nodding ever so. Stan felt something surge in him, feeling like it swooshed through his veins; he realized it was power.

He liked it.

He wiggled his finger tips in the tuft of hair that fell just in front of Bill’s ears and leaned in closer, their faces nearly touching. Stan let his own eyes flutter closed as Bill nudged his nose with his own, as if he were chasing a kiss or requesting one - but Stan wasn’t done yet.

“Always have to have your way with me, don’t you, baby?” His question came in a smooth purr, and he felt Bill nod slowly again by their noses brushing and his cheek still in Stan’s hand.

Stan opened his eyes suddenly, finding Bill’s still closed in front of him, soon to change as Stan shot his hand back into Bill’s hair, grabbing a handful and yanking his head back. It was enough to be forceful, but not to hurt him, like he was with Stan.

Bill gasped as Stan surprised him, his eyes wide now, and Stan relished in how submissive he looked. He whimpered as Stan pulled at his locks, and Stan smirked at how at mercy Bill was to whatever he decided to do with him.

“It’s my turn.” He nearly growled in Bill’s ear before moving to kiss down Bill’s jawline, keeping his hand in Bill’s hair and holding his head back all the while.

He was in the middle of sucking a hickey into the soft, pale skin of Bill’s neck and listening to Bill whine wordlessly when he realized that as many times he woke up with hickies from Mike, Bill never had a single one. Meaning he didn’t let anyone but Stan do that.

He stuck his tongue in his cheek as he pulled away from Bill’s throat, looking over the red mark and sure it would be purple by morning. He blew cool air on it, and Bill shivered and whined.

“L-lips, pl-huh-hease.”

“No,” Stan gritted his teeth as he pulled away from Bill’s neck, looking at him now, “Suck me off.”

In his eagerness, Stan pushed Bill’s willing head faster toward his crotch, Bill obeying immediately, holding onto Stan’s hips and running his tongue up the underside of his dick.

“I didn’t say tease,” Stan’s hips bucked involuntarily, “I said suck.”

Bill looked up at him with wide eyes before beginning to take him into his mouth, whining desperately when Stan tangled his other hand into his hair and started thrusting.

Bill didn’t break eye contact with Stan except occasionally to watch what he was doing, and Stan was near drooling, unable to form words over the sight that Bill was. He was messy, sloppy with his head bobs, and Stan couldn’t help but release one of his holds in his hair and stroke his face. “You’re doing so good, that feels so good, baby.”

It wasn’t long before Stan had to pry Bill off of him and Bill bit his lip in frustration over the loss of contact. Stan couldn’t really focus on anything but how absolutely fucked out Bill already looked, with his hair sticking up in random places and his eyes full of reverence and tears, wiping spit from his mouth with the back of his hand anyway.

Stan groaned watching him, demand flowing out of his mouth as he got up to find another condom. “Turn around, bend over, have you bottomed for anyone since the last time we tried this?” He ignored thoughts of Bill looking like this for anyone else that ignited a familiar fire in the pit of his stomach.

“Yeh-yes.” He heard murmured quietly behind him as he dug through his sock drawer. He found what he was looking for a returned to the bed, kneeling over Bill again now and stroking his sides and back, trying to regain his previous gentleness. Well, somewhat gentleness.

“How long ago?” He inquired camly.

Bill exhaled loudly through his nose and ducked his head down to the sheets beneath them, all messed up. Stan didn’t push, and waited patiently for his reply.

“The last tah-tuh-ttime it happened I-,” He exhaled again, “I ruh-rrode that guy I brouh-hought home last week.”

Stan’s mouth fell open a minute - and he didn’t realize his hands stopped moving until Bill wiggled beneath them. Since when did Bill ride dick - and why had he not been informed of this before? He made a mental note of that.

“Ih-imagined it was you,” Bill’s mouth was digging into the mattress now, muffling his speech, clearly bashful.

Stan’s bravado returned in seconds, and he hovered his body over Bill’s back - making sure to press his dick to Bill’s ass, payback, maybe.

“Well now you don’t have to,” he whispered before retracting, sensually running a finger down Bill’s spine as he did so.

Bill was good while Stan fingered him, complying with all of Stan’s promptings to relax, and was eventually reduced solely to moans of, “More, mm-uh-more, please.” Stan shushed him and smoothed a hand over his the freckles on his back every time, and occasionally reached around him to stroke him, if only to cause Bill to squirm. He couldn’t help but smirk - Bill was putty in his hands.

Finally Stan gave into Bill’s chanted request, painfully hard himself, rolling on the condom and rubbing on more lube for good measure. Bill didn’t bottom nearly as much as he did - he wanted to be as careful as he could and make Bill feel as good as possible.

Bill was pushing back onto him as soon as he was sliding in, getting ahead of both of them, but Stan caught his hips in his hands.

“Relax, let me do the work, baby. Just relax,” He coaxed, moving a free hand to run it soothing through Bill’s hair.

He started slow, like he’d done the first (and last) time they’d done this, and let Bill get used to him before changing his pace and his angles, searching for anything that would turn Bill’s whimpers into full-on moans.

He angled his hips up about thirty degrees, maybe, and thrusted particularly hard - Bill’s arms buckling under him as he cried out, “ _Fuck_!”

Stan did again, and again, growing faster until Bill was reduced to a panting mess, moaning loudly into the sheets.

“Look at you, baby,” Stan groaned, biting his own cheek for a moment, “Taking me so well, you’re doing so great.”

“I- I-,” Bill gasped, fists balling up the sheets, “Thah-ha-hank you, I’m guh-gonna-,”

Stan reached around him again, making it hard to keep his hips angled the way they were but by some miracle he managed, and stroked Bill’s cock again. “C’mon, c’mon,” Stan edged, leaning up to Bill’s ear.

“Thank yah-ah!-you,” Bill panted as he released onto Stan’s hand, “F-feel so mah-huch better with you, th-th-thank you.”

Stan merely let out a loud groan as he pulled out slowly, hearing Bill wince, and came, himself, onto Bill’s back - unplanned, but it worked.

“I luh-,”

“Don’t.”

They didn’t speak for the next two days.

Things were tense, given they’d barely look at each other. Stan even took to changing his schedule and taking different routes around the (Bill’s) house completely if it meant avoiding the other man.

Stan knew he initiated it, the avoiding, but that didn’t make it any less lonely.

So in this state, he called Mike and set up a date.

He spun in his office chair that matched the desk in his room, Bill’s credit card in hand, and phone held between his ear and shoulder - on the phone with the place and making reservations. He felt like going all out.

“Yes, I’d like to make a reservation.”

Upon reciting Bill’s information (he’d memorized it by now, he didn’t really need the card), the man on the phone with the snobbish vice asked him, “Are you William Denbrough?”

He frowned. “I’m…” He hesitated, “His boyfriend,” He forced, finally, “But I’m on the card. It’s, uh, it’s a surprise. Put the reservation under Stanley Uris.”

And after paying extra for making them so late, Stan hung up the phone and went to get ready, ignoring any guilt pooling in his stomach.

Stan wanted to look nice, so he pulled out the same floral blazer Bill had gotten for him what seemed now to be so long ago. He tucked the heart pendant of his necklace into his undershirt.

He watched himself in the mirror as he did so, and then quickly undid the action and tried to position in so that it wouldn’t sit awkwardly over his shirt yet under his collar. It wouldn’t, but he didn’t like how it felt against his own skin. It was cold.

He ran his fingertips over it and contemplated simply taking it off - but he couldn’t make himself do that, either. He tried, however, as he reached around and gripped the clasp with both hands, but sighed before lowering them again. He couldn’t.

He checked the time on his bedside digital clock before turning to himself again - and decided the necklace was best left out and untouched - and then decided he wanted to arrive before Mike and that he should probably get going.

He checked Bill’s room, seeing the TV light blinking under the door and presuming Bill was in there, before creeping down the stairs and giving a sigh of relief once he reached the bottom.

He continued to the door, watching his steps, before he lifted his had and found Bill standing by it, arms crossed and jaw set into a frown. He gasped and jumped, startled, hand flying to his heart - thumb catching on his necklace on the way.

He didn’t say anything, but watched Bill’s eyes scan over him instead - looking none-too-happy.

“Where are you going, so dressed up?” His voice was as hard as his jaw was clenched, and Stan didn’t have the capacity to focus on the strain of his voice or how much he hated it still.

“None of your business,” He answered as matter of factly as he could, lowering his arm, and went to pass Bill the same time that Bill took a step toward him - creating very little space between them.

Bill reached up and entangled a few fingers around Stan’s necklace, causing him to freeze up immediately. He tugged forward - hard.

Stan feared for a minute that he might break the chain and gasped again, throwing his own hands over it as if he were trying to stop it.

 _Let him break it_ , A voice somewhere told him,  _Let him break it all. Let it all be over._

Stan refused to meet Bill’s eyes.

_Pull back. Break the chain. Let there be nothing left-_

He swallowed hard again, mind racing. Maybe Bill wanted to break it. Maybe they both did.

But he didn’t break it. He leaned down to Stan’s ear, instead, and growled.

“You’re wearing my money.”

Bill’s grip loosened and Stan relaxed slightly as Bill went about twisting it around his fingers almost sadistically, and Stan looked up to find Bill’s eyes trained on it and the golden light reflecting in them.

“Take it off or you don’t go.” He said simply, as if it were that easy.

“You don’t own me,” Stan blurted, regretting his sharp tongue but scowling anyway, not abandoning his facade.

Bill pulled hard on the necklace again and Stan let out an accidental chirp in surprise, but Bill ignored it as he whispered in his ear again. “Don’t I?”

Stan was quiet.

“You can go out and- and fuck whoever you want, go whore yourself, for all I care,” He pulled back, and Stan wished he could bring himself to break their eye contact. “But when it comes down to it, we both know who ends your nights. You. Are.  _Mine._ ”

Stan remained speechless but felt defiance bubbling in his stomach, clenching his jaw.

“Call Mike,” Bill commands, pulling back from him a little more - but not letting up on his grip, “You’re not going. I’m fucking you instead.”

“You don’t know it’s Mike,” Stan ground out, Bill’s know-it-all attitude becoming increasingly irritating.

“But I do.” He let go of the necklace, finally.

Stan scoffed, ignoring that Bill was right in his presumptions. “Fuck off, I’m going.”

He went to push past Bill, but was grabbed by his waist and pulled back against Bill.

“Cancel, princess. I gave you a choice,” Bill ground in his ear, “And you didn’t take it, so I made it for you.”

Stan grit his teeth, but pulled out his phone nonetheless, pulling up Mike’s contact and pressing the call button. He held it up to his ear and felt Bill’s arms let go of him - slinking down to his knees in front of Stan.

“Hey Stan,” Mike answered, “I was actually just about to call you, I might be a little late-,”

“Uh, actually, about that-,” Stan blurted, hips bucking as he watched bill reach up to his crotch to palm him through his trousers, “I’m gonna have to cancel for tonight, uh, something came up.”

He wished he wasn’t already hard.

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah, everything is fine, it’s just - uh - my… my dad, you know,” Stan tried to think of a lie on the spot and simultaneously not watch Bill as he unzipped his pants agonizingly slowly. “He… caught the flu! And I have to take care of him.”

“Doesn’t your dad live in Maine?” Mike’s voice signalled that he was confused, and Stan spared a glance down at Bill to find him smirking up at him as he pulled his cock out of his boxers.

“Mmm, yeah, he does, I - uh - Bill is flying me out just for tonight - Listen, I should really go-,”

Bill’s mouth was on him now, and his free hand flew to the soft auburn hair, encouraging him to go deeper, telling him Stan liked what he was doing.

“Alright,” Mike sounded skeptical, “Are we go-,”

“Yes,” Stan barely covered a moan and swiftly shut his eyes, feeling Bill’s head still bobbing, “Yes, we can reschedule.” He looked down to Bill again, who had been smugly giving him blowjob-eyes since the beginning of the phone call. “Tomorrow night, for sure.”

Before Stan could hear Mike utter another word, Bill’s mouth was off him and he was standing swiftly, taking Stan’s phone from his hand and practically slamming his finger on the end call button.

“Give me my phone back, you asshole,” Stan squinted, irritated, and held his hand out - just as Bill tossed it somewhere into the kitchen behind him. Stan heard it hit the floor with a shatter, confirming the screen was broken.

“I buh-ought it,” He fumbled his facade, but quickly resumed, “I pay for it, I can do whatever I please with it. It’s  _mine_.”

Stan smiled up at him condescendingly. “‘Guess you’ll have to buy and pay for a new one then, considering it’s fucking broken now.”

But Bill’s returning stare was dark. ”Does it look like I give a fuck?”

Before Stan could reply, he sunk back to his knees again, pulling Stan’s pants and boxers down the rest of the way. “Off, all of this, ah-off.”

Stan didn’t hesitate to obey, and soon enough all of his nad Bill’s clothes were kicked onto the floor and Bill was lifting him by his ass and into the kitchen - setting him on the edge of the counter. Stan wasted no time opening his legs and pulling Bill in between them by the neck for a hungry kiss.

“Fuck it,” Stan mumbled against his lips, rubbing Bill’s dick with his palm, “Raw me, fuck.”

Bill groaned in response and didn’t hesitate to comply, aligning himself with Stan and pushing in, apparently not even trying to be gentle. Stan screwed his eyes shut through the pain and let his fingers tangle hard into Bill’s hair and dig harshly into the skin of his shoulder - probably leaving angry red marks that would be seen in the morning.

“Fuck, fuck,” He swore, as if it would lessen the discomfort, but never asking or wishing that Bill would stop. Eventually his swears turned into pleasure-filled moans, maybe somewhere along the lines that Bill started pumping him again, and he let go of Bill’s shoulder to lean back on his hand.

Rings filled his ears just then from across the room - and he recognized it as Mike’s ringtone.

“Sounds like your buh-huh-boyfriend is calling,” Bill leaned in to his ear and taunted, Stan’s breath catching in his throat. He bit his lip hard, biting back more moans so as not to let Bill know he liked that - but it was clear by his tone of voice that he knew, anyway.

His grip on Stan’s hips loosens teasingly, as if he were really going to let go, and he continued to taunt him. “Do you wanna go geh-get that?”

Stan grit his teeth and didn’t answer, Bill slowing down his strokes just enough to purposefully drive him insane. He knew Stan didn’t want to, and Stan knew he just wanted to hear him say it. He threw his head back instead.  

_Bastard._

Stan realized he was panting when he spit out, finally growing fed-up with Bill’s teasingness, “ _Fuck_ , I hate you, no - keep going.”

He felt warm fingertips grabbing him by the chin and pulling it to face Bill, who pulled out slowly at the same time, scowl etched onto his perfect features.

“My bed, now.” He demanded, clearly waiting for Stan top hop off of the counter and go upstairs himself. Stan thought he ought to know better than that, Stan was far too stubborn for that.

“No,” He answered simply - to which Bill shrugged and picked him up by the ass again.

“You’re ss-such a brat,” He felt Bill mumble over his shoulder as they crossed the threshold into Bill’s room - a place he hadn’t been in a long time. He’d grown to accustomed to his own.

He was dropped on the bed almost careless but immediately crawled after, watching Bill with slightly parted lips. He looked to the wall, and, sure enough, the giant mirror was still there - as if Bill had just somehow removed it without him noticing. He supposed it was possible.

Bill wasted no time again, Stan letting him pull his hips up and position them so that Bill was taking him from behind - leaving him nothing to do but watch. He guessed Bill must have really liked it the last time, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t as well.

“I’ll mm-m-make sure you can’t even fucking walk by tah-tomorrow night,” Bill promised, sliding in and resuming his desperate pace, “How will Mike fah-f-feel about that?”

Stan didn’t answer except in moans, fucking back on Bill’s cock as much as Bill was fucking into him, focusing on the graze of his prostate with every thrust. He watched Bill pull his hips back continuously in the mirror, watched him bite his own lips so hard he felt like he might draw blood only trying to hold back moans.

“Nobody fucks like Bill Denbrough does, babe,” Bill tangled a hand into Stan’s hair and tugged his head back, Stan watching in the mirror as marks on his neck were exposed, given to him earlier by none other than Bill. “I think you should just count yourself lucky that you get to have million dollar dick over,” He thrusted particularly hard, Stan letting out a loud moan, “And over,” Another hard thrust and another moan, “and  _over_.”

Stan didn’t reply, overwhelmed by pleasure, Bill’s dick hitting his prostate now - reducing him to loud moans and tears that pooled in his eyes.

“Who makes you feel like this?” Bill groaned, releasing Stan’s hair and opting to pull on and pound his hips again, “Who makes you feel this good?”

“Mike,” Stan lied, eyes screwing shut, pretending Bill’s name wasn’t on the tip of his tongue, “Oh, Mike!”

He felt Bill run his fingers through his hair, slowing his thrusts to an excruciatingly slow pace, and he whined. “Try again, pruh-princess,” He said calmly, “I know you puh-p-picture me when you close your eyes, I kn-know it feels better when you pretend it’s me.”

Before Stan could get a word in, Bill sped up his thrusts again, forcing Stan to pant out, “And you… Don’t?” He scoffed weakly, “‘Imagined it was you…Feels better when it’s you’” He quoted, Bill yanking his head back again, making Stan emit another surprised chirp.

“Luh-look at yourself, muh-my little slut, huh?” He growled, a hand coming down sharply on Stan’s ass once and then two more times, Stan wincing all three but continuing to move his ass against Bill’s cock. “I’m going to ah-hask you one more time, precious,” The fingers combing through Stan’s hair were much gentler than the way he was being fucked, “Me or Mike?”

“Fuck off,” Stan found himself grumbling, clenching around Bill’s cock and hearing the hiss it caused. Bill wasn’t getting an answer that easily.

“Tell me what he d-d-does to you,” Bill demanded, tightening his fingers again - forcing Stan to watch a tear roll down his own cheek and Bill landed another smack to his ass.

“Fuck you,”Stan grunted, “Why?”

Bill rubbed up and down Stan’s sides, “Does he kn-know it gives you chills when the spot right above your hips is grabbed?” He did so - eliciting a gasp from Stan and, sure enough, a shiver to run down his spine.

_No._

He let go of Stan’s hair and instead reached out to grab one of Stan’s wrists, the other arm giving out from under him. Bill took advantage of this, too, taking both limp wrists and pinning them to Stan’s back. “Does he know you luh-l-like to have your hands pinned away from you?”

_No._

He slowed his thrusts again - not too slow, but a pace that was far too sensual for the way they were going at it. He rolled his hips into Stan dramatically, romantically, making sure he was fully in Stan while every roll. “Does h-hhe know you like to be fucked sluh-slow, like to feel everything insuh-hide of you?”

_No._

He kept this up but let go of Stan’s wrists, combing his fingers through Stan’s hair a final time. “Does he fuck you l-like I fuck you?”

“No!” Stan at last found himself nearly yelling, half muffled by the sheets his blushed cheek laid on, “No, Bill, no - he- he-,” Stan couldn’t find words as he came, white streaks painting his stomach as he eyes screwed closed. The only thing he ended up being able to get out coherently were whispered chants of Bill’s name - not being able to focus on anything else. Bill was his entire world in that moment.

Bill switched almost as immediately as Stan did, letting Stan ride out his high before rubbing his back and murmuring, “Turn ar-round, baby, can you turn around fuh-f-for me?”

Stan complied almost weakly, recovering from the orgasm that had him shaking just seconds ago, to Bill who was sitting up on his knees still, stroking himself slowly. “Where, baby?” He asked, licking his lips.

Stan rested his hands on Bill’s hips and went to take him into his mouth, but Bill pulled away. “Please, let me make you feel good, Bill, baby, please,” He begged almost on instinct, but Bill only smoothed down in his hair in response and held his face gently in his hand. Stan unthinkingly nuzzled his face into the warmth, turning and giving Bill’s palm a soft kiss. He watched Bill smile gently through half lidded eyes.

“You ah-lready made m-m-mme feel good, baby,” He soothed, “Where do you want it?”

“My- my face, sir,” He threw that in for good measure, “Cum on my face, please…”

Stan’s wishes have almost always been Bill’s command.

Stan threw himself back on the bed when Bill was finished, eyes closed, waiting for Bill to clean him up like he always did. He heard him shuffle around on the bed and pull open a drawer, and then there was a wipe moving over his face and then his stomach gently.

Stan let his eyes open and he met Bill’s - who sat back on his heels and stared at him in a way that made butterflies take off in his stomach. He tried to push them down, but in his exhaustion he found the feeling hard to fight - so he let it go.  _Just for one night._

He watched Bill settle into bed beside him, and snuggled into his arms when he opened them invitingly. Bill’s chest had always been perfectly Stan-sized.

He reveled in Bill’s warm body heat, and caught an ever-familiar whiff of Bill’s cologne - and then his eyes were fluttering closed, and he was falling asleep with Bill’s arms around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then bill stares @ stan while he sleeps like a lil angel uwu


	11. eleven: what happens at ten thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yuhhh shoutout to everyone reading this for waiting what like seven WEEKS im so sorry i got real depressed and had the WORST writer’s block and school sucked ass for my entire third marking period but! it’s over now so you know what that means? REGULAR FUCKING UPDATES also fucking how mobile tumblr is formatting everything now im sorry

Stan almost thought the sight he awoke to wasn’t real. He had to still be dreaming - but no, he wasn’t. The soft snores that filled the room were all too real; he could reach out and touch Bill’s serene, sleeping face if he really wanted to. He did.

He dragged a fingertip slowly and gently down the smooth skin of Bill’s cheek - from the bone to his jawline, and then rubbed his thumb across it with just as much care. Bill didn’t stir, and Stan was faintly reminded of all the other times the universe granted he could wake up to this, especially Sundays. Sundays were the days they woke up late and made breakfast together, the days that sun shined through the windows before Stan had even opened his eyes, casting a small shadow of Bill’s long eyelashes over his spotted cheeks.

And Stan took them all for granted. He supposed that was karma enough.

Strong arms were still wrapped around his waist, and he turned a little in them to touch them as well. The pale skin was warm underneath his palms as he ran a hand down Bill’s bicep, and his freckles sprayed down the silk like stars in a galaxy - condensed at his shoulders, and then few and far between once Stan had slowly reached his wrist.

He pulled it off from around him.

Lifting his head and still holding Bill’s arm (Which was much heavier when Bill wasn’t in control of it), Stan tried his best to full scoot out of his grip, tucking his-  _Bill’s_  pillow under in his place. He hoped it would make a good ruse.

He scooched out from underneath the covers, standing up and admiring Bill silently for a last time. He somehow wished he hadn’t been so quiet, wished Bill would have woken up and pulled him closer, maybe even kissed his forehead like he used to do. A bittersweet smile crept up onto his face at the tiny reverie of Bill’s lips at his temples whenever he had the chance to put them there, but he didn’t do that anymore.

Bill’s arms closed tighter on the pillow and Stan watched him stir, nuzzling his head into the pillow like he used to do to Stan’s hair. Stan wondered if he did that with Audra, too.

It was with that thought that he collected his thoughts, pulling himself from any stupid loving haze he might have been in to be thinking such sentimental things when he knew it wasn’t good for him. None of this was.

Bill stirred again, turning further into the pillow, and Stan could see the crowds of freckles on his shoulders and parts of his back now.

And angry red nail marks that made his face feel a degree warmer.

He felt his heart sink despite himself, and it beat like a slow metronome as he dragged himself out of the room. He didn’t know how much more of watching that his sanity could take, and he missed Bill’s safe, warm embrace already. He reminded himself that this was for the best, and then went to his own room, and got ready for the day. He didn’t know what he was getting ready for, but he did know that he needed to get out of the house for once. He needed to have a moment to himself.

He wore a turtleneck to cover up the hickies from the night before. Thank god it was February.

Spending the day at the library instead of his room wasn’t horrible. It wasn’t even bad. Yes, the day seemed to go on forever, but Stan supposed that there were worse things he could be doing.

The time rounded three thirty as he walked back to his car. His phone buzzed, and as he pulled it out and read the text, he realized one of those worse things was talking to Mike about their relationship. Just like Mike had just asked if they could do.

He freaked out about it all the way home.

The dread of any conversation that Stan would have to fabricate more lies to cover up his previous lies was like that he felt when he still worked at the club - those memories seeming so far away now. As it turned out, lying to a potential significant other felt just as bad as lying to your friends. Who would have thought that?

The even more increasing trouble that came with this, was there were two things Mike could possibly want to talk about. He  _could_  be asking Stan to go steady, which Stan - considering his ‘arrangement’ with Bill - was not at all ready for or willing to agree to (which would make things horribly awkward and all the more complicated), or he could be telling Stan he wanted to break things off completely. Okay, maybe that last one was a worst case scenario, but Stan - again, considering his arrangement with Bill - didn’t know if he was completely opposed to it.

And that scared him more than anything Mike possibly could want to talk about, as well as filled him to the brim with guilt. He was in over his head -  _way_  over his head. He might as well have already drowned.

He stopped in the garage and rolled up his windows, and looked around for the missing car that Bill had likely taken to work.

He’d taken the lambo. Stan wasn’t surprised.

He’d told Mike to come by around four, and three forty five crept on on him as he sat. Bill usually didn’t come home until around six, so he figured it was a safe bet.

“Bill,” He said out loud suddenly, surprising himself a little bit. The name felt almost foreign on his tongue, like it had been centurties since he’d said it last in a casual setting. It practically had been, to him, at least.

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” He repeated, almost cheerily, the only one to hear it. It sounded right, in a weird way. It felt right. It felt like any other way to say it now was wrong. He sighed but breathed a laugh at himself and his own stupidity.

He sat in silence in his car for another minute, and the gears in his mind churned again, heaving memory after memory to the forefront of his brain.

“Am I still in love with Bill?” He wondered aloud to himself. The question made him sit silently again, cranks not turning. He contemplated it.

When his watch showed three fifty five and he still couldn’t come up with an answer, he got out, and he went inside.

Waiting for Mike was something close to personal torture. He bounced his leg anxiously as he sat on the couch, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Mike texted him, asking him to open the gate. He did so with the touch of a button in another app, and then waiting the next minute by the door to let Mike inside.

They sat on the couch, and the air between them was tense and stilted. Stan did not think that Mike was going to ask him to go steady anymore.

He waited for Mike to start.

Mike heaved in a deep breath. “You’ve been weird lately,” He nodded, looking to the hands that were folded in his lap. Stan watched his clasp and unclasp his fingers. “About our relationship.” His next words were accompanied by a long sigh. “I know you lied to me about last night. I know you weren’t with your dad. You were on the snap-map at six thirty this morning and I’m pretty sure you didn’t go to just spend the night at your parents house.”

He chuckled almost bitterly, and then continued. Stan was quiet. “I don’t know why you did, and I don’t know what you did instead of our date or why you felt like you had to lie to me about it.”

He was quiet then, and Stan surveyed his own fingertips. He presumed Mike was waiting for a response, and opened his mouth a few times just to close it again.

There were two things he could do. Spill his guts, or keep this impending avalanche growing.

His stupid mouth chose an in-between.

“You- you’re right. I’m sorry, Mike, I wasn’t with my dad last night. I can’t tell you what I was doing - there are a lot of things I can’t tell you right now. I’m sorry.”

He internally nodded to himself. That sounded okay.

Mike sighed again, looking at Stan now. He placed one of his larger hands over Stan’s.

“I really,  _really_  want to be with you, Stan,” He looked so sincere, and Stan felt himself begin to sweat. He regretted his dumb turtleneck for a minute. “But this puts a strain on tha-,”

Stan cut him off quickly, knowing he would have no words for Mike if he let him finish, leaning forward quickly so their mouths slotted together. Mike seemed surprised but, shocking to Stan, welcomed it. Stan pulled away to tell another lie to his face.

“I want to be with you, too,” He mumbled, trying his best to sound convincing while avoiding eye contact, and then connected their lips again so Mike would have no time to respond.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate, as he was trying to clear Mike’s mind of any suspicion or doubt - though it was extremely reasonable for him to have them and Stan knew it. He’d been sloppy.

He ended up straddling the other man on Bill’s living room couch, but nearly jumped off like he’d been burned when Mike when to slide hands up his shirt.

“You know-,” He swallowed hard, remembering the bruises from Bill’s mouth that were fresh still from the night before that littered his pale skin, “We should really sto-,”

He was cut off by a door, and then footsteps walking through the kitchen.

_Fuck, he’s home early._

From where he sat above Mike, Stan could see Bill’s disapproving gaze rake over him as he walked through the living room to the hall where his office was. Stan tried not to let it feel like it seared a hole through his chest.

Bill disappeared behind the next wall.

“We should really stop,” Stan continued, shaking his head and turning back to Mike. “I don’t want to, like, make him uncomfortable.”

Mike chuckled, mind apparently eased. Stan could’ve breathed a sigh of relief. “If you want to, okay, but we’ve done things with him here before.” His hands rested underneath Stan’s shirt and on his bare skin, and Stan was afraid that if he lifted any higher he would see the yellowing purple marks.

“Yeah, but I mean,” He made his best attempt at sounding like he didn’t have to think so hard to come up with a lie. “That’s usually not so early, and we have to decide on dinner, and I have to get his help on an essay- Which I really should be starting-,” He lied. He finished that essay earlier at the library.

“Okay, okay,” Mike put his hands up in mock defense, laughing now, and then Stan fell into the regular, friendly comfortability he was usually able to have with him, smiling as well. “I’m going, I’m going.”

Stan climbed off of him as he got up, and Stan walked him to the door, stopping him as he exited for a kiss on the cheek.

“I’ll text you later, alright?” He smiled softly at Mike, hoping his previous actions had been forgiven. It seemed they had, as Mike leaned down and returned his kiss on the cheek, and then stood back up with a smile.

“Okay,” He nodded, and then he was out the door, and Stan let out a long sigh of relief once he was sure he was gone.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to find Bill standing in the hallway, leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

He huffed once with an eye roll, and then pivoted, going back into his office and slamming the door - causing Stan to jump a second time before trudging to his own room.

The next few hours aren’t particularly out of the ordinary. Stan doesn’t talk to Bill and Bill doesn’t talk to Stan - even though Stan kind of wants to nag him for requesting that the chef make them mushroom stew. Stan hated mushrooms, and Bill knew it.

 _You should make some cereal. It’s what the best of us would do in times like these,_  The Richie in his mind returned suddenly from his long dormancy. He rolled his eyes. Cereal for breakfast was so Richie-like, and so un-Stan-like.

He heated up a can of chicken noodle soup instead - not sure why the cooks kept it on hand, but glad they did.

He grit his teeth as he poured it into a bowl and listened to feet shuffling out of Bill’s office. Stan looked to him with squinted eyes, noting the tie he’d pulled loose and his lack of blazer and shoes. Bill was always such a mess, Stan wondered if anyone but himself and the house staff got to see him like this, and almost smiled at the sentiment, but the scent of mushroom filled his nose and he grimaced instead.

Bill walks past him and goes to the cabinet and then to the fridge, getting himself a glass of water. Stan spoke up first.

“You told them to make mushroom soup.” He stated, not looking away from what he was doing, waiting for Bill to confirm that he had.

“Yes.” He nodded, and Stan saw him pull the glass away from the fridge and sip from it out of the corner of his eye.

“You know I hate mushrooms,” Stan informed him with distaste, refreshing what Bill already knew.

He heard him chuckle from behind him, and he clicked his jaw together, irritated. If asked, he’d lie about how even the faintest bit of laughter emitted from Bill’s lips made him feel.

“Guilty.”

Stan didn’t respond. He grabbed a spoon and pivoted, skillfully managing to avoid looking at Bill. That’s just what Bill wanted, after all.

He was halfway up the stairs when Bill’s voice caused him to stop, looking down at his bowl.

“My room tonight, ten thirty.”

Stan turned around for just a moment on the steps to look at Bill. The man stood twenty feet away from him in the kitchen, appearing rather displeased, as told his frown and the eyes Stan couldn’t see because they were looking down into the glass of water he was swirling around gently in his hand, not letting any sloosh out.

Stan turn back around and continued walking.

He went into his room and put on his pajamas, setting his bowl on his desk. He didn’t eat much. He watched cat and bird videos on youtube and got ahead on a presentation he didn’t really have to start until next week, having finished everything he actually had to do at the library. He was actually rather bored, and found himself counting down the hours and then the minutes until ten thirty.

When it got to be ten twenty eight he entertained the thought of trying to look presentable, and then scrapped it, still irritated with Bill about the whole dinner situation earlier. And just, well, generally displeased with Bill, as he often was these days. It sucked.

He waited the extra two minutes that seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly before making his way across the hall to Bill’s room, pajama pants dragging along with his feet on the carpet.

He stood on the outside of the gently closed door and licked his lips, half expecting Bill to already be undressed on the other side. He braced himself to tell him that he wasn’t in the mood - it felt too wrong after telling Mike he wanted to be with him. This was all very far, but that was crossing some sort of line.

He pushed the door open slowly with a careful palm, and revealed a sight he didn’t expect to see.

Bill sat on the edge of the bed, fully clothed, with his head bowed to look at the hands that were folded in his lap, elbows resting on his legs as he leaned over himself. He looked up and Stan and opened his mouth a bit, but Stan beat him to it, standing aloofly in the doorway.

“I don’t want to have sex,” He told him, tone as indifferent as he felt confused.

“I don’t wah-wh-hant to have sex,” Bill repeated back to him, looking solemn as he looked up at Stan with those stupidly beautiful blue eyes.

Stan shifted his jaw once, thinking for a moment, and then speaking again. He looked to the far wall and then back to Bill and then to the right-most wall. Bill’s eyes never left him. “I don’t want to talk either.”

He looked back at Bill as he opened his mouth. “Okay, th-thuh-hen let me do the tuh-t-talking. Will you lay down?” His voice was soft in his request, and it made Stan’s heart beat a little faster behind his ribs. Bill sounded sad, almost, but not like his voice might crack any minute. He was calm, and melancholic, and Stan wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

He nodded once and moved into the room slowly, a bit warily, still confused and especially so about Bill wanting him to lay down. He crawled past Bill onto the bed, feeling Bill turn to him behind him as he laid on his back wordlessly. It was as comfortable as it was that morning.

Bill shuffled around on the bed, and Stan watched him observantly as Bill straddled him, carefully planting either of his legs over Stan’s thighs. He wouldn’t meet Stan’s eyes, looking at his hands again as he fiddled with the strings on his own pajama pants.

They were equally quiet for a moment before Bill gulped and took a loud breath, not exactly deep, but loud, and looked at Stan what felt like finally.

“Can I t-tuh-t-hake off your shirt?” He asked in the same nearly timid voice from earlier. Stan nodded before thinking about the question, too curious to say no, wondering why Bill wanted him half naked if he didn’t want sex.

He slid his arms from his sides to above his head while Bill’s warm hands travelled to his abdomen, the slight and familiar roughness of them rather comforting as they glided across his body so reverently. Bill was extremely careful and took his time, but somehow without treating Stan as fragile. His grip on Stan’s side as he pushed his shirt up was firm and deliberate, and Stan felt for a moment like he was being worshipped.

The red fabric was glided up and over Stan’s head and then his arms, obscuring his sight of Bill for a moment. It returned in a second, and by then Bill was pulling the shirt off of his hands and taking it into his own. Stan watched him fold it with concentration and set it beside them, and he would’ve smiled at the small consideration if the atmosphere didn’t feel so heavy.

His gaze returned to Stan’s exposed upper body, and Stan wondered for a moment why his eyes widened until he remembered looking at it himself this morning. He knew his pale skin was littered with deep purple - possibly yellowing by now - lovebites all in the shape of Bill’s mouth. Stan remember thinking this morning that if neither of them knew what had happened, someone might think something terrible had happened to him.

But they both knew.

Bill bit the inside of his lip and his eyes trailed over Stan, his hand reaching out tentatively to trace his fingers down the bruises.

“Oh, Stanley,” He swallowed, his voice barely above a whisper and full of remorse before he smiled bitterly in spite of himself. “It luh-ll-hooks like you got at-tah-hacked by a bear.” His small, breathy laugh matched his expression, and Stan watched in silence as Bill leaned down closer to his chest.

“I don’t regret it.” Stan informed him with a straight face, trying not to let his voice waiver as Bill’s soft lips came into contact with the spots of tender skin.

“I sh-sh-houldn’t have been so rough,” He continued, the tip of his nose gliding as he moved down the trail of hickies, much gentler than he had been when making them. He shimmied down Stan’s legs so his mouth could reach Stan’s hips, where his pants hung just under and where there were yellowed red bruises from Bill’s grip. He nosed at them, and Stan caught a glimpse of his face again. His eyes were closed, and he looked nearly pained, before he hung his head low again and placed another kiss to the bone. He felt a pang of pain in his chest seeing Bill like that, and then heart skipped a beat. “I’m sorry.”

“Seriously, I don’t want you to apologize, Bill.” Stan brought his hand to comb fingers soothingly through Bill’s hair, willing him to be comforted. Bill repeated his actions to Stan’s other hip before looking back up at him, and then back down at his torso almost sheepishly.

“How’s-,” Bill went to ask, but Stan beat him to it, already knowing what he was going to say.

“It’s uncomfortable,” He rolled his eyes, sitting up on his elbows so he could look at Bill normally. “But I can still walk.” He chuckled.

Bill shuffled again so that he was once again sitting on Stan’s thighs. He brought a hand to Stan’s neck and traced a thumb over a particularly prominent mark, and they’re quiet for a moment, Stan swallowing under Bill’s gentle grip.

“My b-bruh-brother is coming soon,” Bill told him, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he looked down at Stan. “In a fuh-few days. I’ve told you about Jeh-juh-Georgie before.” The question came out like a statement, and Stan nodded as he thought back to that night a few months ago which he found Bill sleeping in the child’s bed.

Stan wiggled a bit under Bill so that he could sit up fully, and Bill let him, however staying put on just Stan’s lower legs now, hand still on his throat.

“How long is he staying?” Stan asked, not having many ideas about what Georgie was like and much less what to expect while he was staying.

“A wuh-heek,” Bill answered, voice dropping, and Stan could’ve sworn his eyes dipped to his lips before coming back up.

“That’s nice,” Stan gave a small nod, and let his own eyes scan over Bill’s face that seemed closer than before. They watched each other as sillence lapsed between them.

It took what felt like forever for Bill to finally catch on to Stan returning the glances at his lips to dip his face in closer to Stan’s and press their lips together.

It shouldn’t have been so romantic, and it probably shouldn’t have felt so right, but Stan didn’t think about that. He thought only of Bill, and the kiss that didn’t deepen hungrily or overly passionately, just their lips moving together in a slow and intimate fashion, hands eventually finding the other’s face.

And then Stan knew that this was much, much worse than having sex after what he told Mike, because as his mind travelled back to where it was before he got out of the car earlier, he realized that he had an answer.

Now only if he knew what to do with that.

He was the first to pull back, and he opened his eyes to find Bill opening his eyes well, wide bright blues pouring into him, decaled with rose brushed across the bridge of his nose.

“Goodnight, Bill,” Stan nodded, letting his fingertips trail softly down Bill’s cheeks as he removed his hands, feeling Bill’s do the same as he pulled away.

He crawled off the bed without another word, hearing only “Goodnight, Stan,” as he exited, closing the door gently behind him.

His smile lasted all the way back to his room, and retired to a sleepy grin until he fell asleep.

Stan woke up to a few notifications from snapchat and instagram, nothing out of the ordinary, he noted, until his eyes scanned across texts he received thirty minutes ago from Richie - which was odd, because Richie usually didn’t like to get up before noon, much less at seven forty five.

_get taco bell with me today stanny_

_blease_

_text me when u get up and ill meet u there_

_ur not allowed to say no_

Stan grimaced. He really didn’t like Taco Bell all that much, but Richie loved it, and he missed Richie, so he supposed he could live through it for one meal.

 _I’ll meet you there at 12:30. I’m not having Taco Bell for breakfast._ He typed, and then read over for typos before sending it.

 _PLEASE taco bell for breakfast,_ Richie’s response came in seconds. That was also odd, because usually it took him a solid ten minutes to get back to Stan under most circumstances.

He rolled his eyes but knew it was futile to argue with Richie over this if he wanted to see him. Now that he had the idea in his head, there was no swaying him.

_Fine. Let me get dressed and I’ll meet you at the one on Jackson._

_ur the man stan see u then i wuv u_

Stan rolled his eyes and started for his drawers.

He arrived before Richie, and the restaurant already smelled heavily of extremely processed meat and cheese, even at their earliest hour. Stan supposed it probably never stopped smelling that.

He didn’t order anything to eat, but was sort of glad Richie forced him out of the house for breakfast. Whether Richie knew he was saving Stan from laying in bed feeling depressed for an hour while Bill ate breakfast by himself or not was a different story, but he was glad nonetheless.

He got a bottle of water and took a seat, and in a few minutes Richie was stumbling in with his keys hanging out of his pockets, a pair of pink slippers that were too small for him shoved on his feet (Those were new, Stan noted), a big gray hoodie he wore all through high school that still managed to be impossibly too baggy on his skinny frame, and pajama pants that he almost tripped on with his every step.

He stumbled over to Stan with squinted eyes, and then banged his hand on the table, making Stan jump slightly.

“Why aren’t you in your pajamas, Stanley? How many times do we have to do this for you to get the memo? When I say breakfast, you’re  _supposed_  to show up looking like you just crawled out from under a bridge!” Richie mock-nagged him, and was quick to invade space as he always was, beginning to tug Stan’s shirt out from his jeans.

“Hey!” Stan swatted him, Richie laughing maniacally and attempting to turn it into a tickle fight until Stan pushed him away with real force and went about tucking his shirt back in.

“Go order, asshole,” He rolled his eyes, and nearly remarked that he was sorry for missing the mess in front of him. But he knew he wasn’t really, smiling softly at the goofy smile that took up Richie’s still slightly-buck-toothed mouth, despite wearing those ugly, bright blue braces for all of high school.

He watched Richie shuffle off to get his food, and he scrolled through instagram for the ten minutes it took him to come back and sit across from Stan.

“Jeez,” Stan scrunched his nose but at his best friend. He had three tacos, nachos, and a baja blast - and it was nine o’clock in the morning. “You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be rude, Stanny,” Richie requested with a joking tone, and then took a bite and proceeded to talk to Stan with his mouth full, unsurprisingly. “How’ve things been with you?”

“They’ve been okay,” Stan half-lied, but not on purpose. That was just what you said when someone asked how you were; he didn’t think much of it and took a sip of his water.

Richie fixed his glasses on the bridge of his nose. Stan could never figure out why he refused to get contacts. “Two weeks ago you were sobbing on my doorstep and than ran the fuck away when I got home,” He half-laughed, but the concern in his voice what obvious even as Stan avoided his stare. “What was up with that?”

“Oh, uh, that?” Stan fumbled, racking his brain for a quick excuse, “I was just having a bad day.”

“It was six in the morning.”

“It was still a bad day,” Stan insisted, unwilling to change his lie now. Well, it wasn’t really a lie. That  _was_  a bad day. Probably the worst day on his track record so far.

“Did crying in your  _ferrari_  that you didn’t tell me about help at all?” Richie raised his eyebrows, and Stan’s breath hitched in his throat mid sip, making him cough violently, some getting in his windpipe. Meanwhile, Richie continued. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you got a fucking  _ferrari_!” He emphasized again. “Do you know how cool we’d look driving around in that thing?” He glanced out the window like he was looking for it - and Stan was so stupidly used to the whole ordeal that, yes, he brought it, and Richie found it in a second. “How’d you get a car like that anyway? You’re just as broke as the rest of us; you could barely make rent, what, seven months ago?” He laughed.

Stan was quiet his whole monologue, trying to catch his breath still from choking on his water.

“I- I… Ran into a lump sum of cash, that’s all,” He tried his best to shrug nonchalantly.

“And Bev told me you moved, did you get a new place, too? Why haven’t you invited me over too break your couch in yet?” Richie shot him with question after question, now just spouting them off as they came to him.

“Yeah,” Stan tried his best to roll seamlessly with his lie, “My- my, uhhh-uncle, close uncle- he died, and he was, like, rich,” Stan laughed uncomfortably, avoiding Richie’s questions.

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, magnified eyes squinting a bit as he looked at Stan with confusion and a little bit of hurt on his face. “You hate when people die, and you usually tell me so I’ll make you feel better,” He frowned. “Unless that’s why you were crying at my house-,”

“Yes!” Stan exclaimed a bit too readily, clapping his hands together once, and then remembering himself. “I mean, yes,” He calmed his demeanor, “Yes, I was there because I was going to tell you, but then I was embarrassed about spending the money so carelessly.”

“Yeah,”Richie agreed, “I mean, you know I wouldn’t have judged you, but it’s really unlike you to just drop a couple hundred grand on a car.”

Stan laughed uncomfortably. “Yeah,” He agreed with a curt nod.

“I heard from Bev you’ve been seeing Mike now, that new chef at Applebee’s? Well, I guess he’d not really new anymore,” Richie chuckled, and Stan was glad he changed the topic, though this one was probably just as bad. Stan found himself waiting for his mind to spiral out of control a second time in fifteen minutes. “He’s a nice guy. Not exactly your type, but he’s nice.”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “My  _type_? I’ve dated one guy, how do I have a type?”

“Everyone’s got a type,” Richie sipped his sugary drink, “Yours is usually guys that won’t put labels on anything,” He referenced several of Stan’s old high-school crushes with that one. “Blue eyes,” More high school crushes. “And tall.” That one he was making a direct reference to junior year, when Stan had liked every guy on the basketball and baseball teams at once.

“Okay, so I’m seeing Mike,” Stan rolled his eyes, ignoring that Bill fit all of those descriptors. “Actually, I could use some advice on that. I think he wants to go steady,” Stan swooshed the water in his bottle around distractedly, “And I told him I want to, too, but I… Really don’t.” He confessed,and sort of revelled in how good it felt to say out loud.

“I think you should be honest with ‘im,” Richie shrugged, “If you don’t tell him the truth, you’ll just end up in some big web of lies and it’ll all just come back to bite you in the ass really hard and shit will suck.” He sipped his drink.

Stan gulped.

“So have you been seeing anyone?” Stan asked, trying desperately to direct the conversation away from himself now.

“No,” Richie answered far too quickly. “Nope, you know me, never seeing anyway, thot extraordinaire.”

Stan quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t press. Richie had finished all of his food by then, and got up to throw it out.

When he shuffled back over, ugly slippers making an irritating scruffy sound against the tile floor, he stood in front of Stan and waited for him to get up from his seat before pulling him into a tight hug. He smelled bad, and Stan knew he probably hadn’t showered yet that day, but he hugged back anyway.

“I miss you, Stan, seriously,” Richie mumbled against him, pressing his mouth against the side of Stan’s head. “Would it kill you to call once in a while?” He joked.

“Sorry,” Stan said sheepishly, “I miss you, too, Richie,” He spoke sincerely into his friend’s shoulder, hoodie muffling his words a lot, but Richie could understand.

They parted ways then, with promises to hang out more soon and Stan not knowing how well he would be able to hold himself to that. He watched Richie go to his car and waved a last time as his best friend drove off with a smile. He smiled to himself before getting in his own car, sleeker than Richie’s truck, and tapped his hands distractedly on the wheel before putting the keys in the ignition.

He checked the time and only hoped that Bill would be done breakfast by the time he got home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooty hoo theres a lot of reading between the lines to be done here uwu


	12. twelve [part one]: we've always has similar taste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is PART ONE of chapter 12! i wanted to get it out because it's quite long, but it's not the whole chapter. i know im a mess and i dont know how this is gonna go down with formatting bc i didnt think this through but it's fine. its fine!

Stan wished he could say he was shocked when things went, relatively, back to how they were after Saturday. He and Bill didn’t talk - granted, Bill didn’t bring anyone home, though, which was a plus, and he cleaned up the house a lot. Stan assumed it was in prep for his little brother.

It was… Really, mostly (Okay, all) Stan’s fault that they didn’t talk. Bill tried to strike up conversation on more than a few occasions. It was usually little things about his brother that Stan would entertain with a brief smile and a nod before scurrying out the door or up to his room or just generally away from Bill, and as spring break began that week and lasted the next two, Stan tried to keep himself as busy and unavailable to Bill as much as he possibly could.

He wasn’t sure why he was so anxious, but he knew he was tired. He didn’t expect much from this stay of his little brother, just another thing to keep Bill busy and away from him. Maybe Bill would perk up a bit. Stan hoped so, it was a drag to see someone he cared so much about anything less than happy and content.

But that didn’t stop Stan from being the cause, as he continued to hurry away from Bill whenever he tried to talk to Stan.

What did shock Stan was the light knock he received on his door on Wednesday morning, and then Bill’s face peering in at him with a glowing beam.

“Do you wuh-hanna go with me t-tuh-to pick up Georgie from the airp-port?” He asked, keys already in hand, opening the door a little more.

Stan rubbed at his eyes and groggily looked at the time, noting it was eight thirty and then sitting up. “Sure,” He yawned, “If you let me get dressed first.”

Bill beamed brighter and smiled wider, if that were even possible. Stan wasn’t sure what compelled him to say yes, he was pretty sure any conversation made on the way would be awkward and stilted - but he couldn’t bare to tell Bill no while he was giving him such an adorable face.

“Okay,” He practically whispered, pulling himself away from Stan’s door again and closing it.

So Stan got dressed, brushed his teeth, and wished he had time to take a shower but didn’t think Bill’s patience permitted that. He seemed very excited, and he was never as early as Stan, so Stan figured he probably didn’t allow for time for that anyway.

He was right.

“Sta-an!” Bill sing-songed outside the bathroom door, and Stan was nearly disturbed in a sort of pleasant way by his demeanor. “We’re guh-honna be late!” His voice was cheerful despite rushing, and Stan stepped out just then, brushing off his pants once more before looking up at Bill.

“Ready to go,” He said breathily, taking in the giant smile that took up Bill’s face again when he stepped out. He felt like it had been an awfully long time since he’d seen it, and reveled in the warmth it brought in his chest.

Bill jogged down the stairs without another word and grabbed the keys to the lambo off the rack that Stan had hung so long ago. He smiled as he followed at a slower pace, almost laughing at Bill as he bounced on the soles of his feet.

Bill’s mouth ran miles a minute during the drive, much more than Stan thought, and hearing so much of Bill’s voice pleased him. He supposed it was the most he’d heard Bill talk in the past couple of months.

“I th-th-think you’ll like Georgie,” He’d started the moment they’d gotten settled in the car, “He can be rah-hambunctious, sometimes, but he’s a lot-t-t like me.” He laughed lightly, and Stan quirked an eyebrow along with the corner of his mouth.

“What’s to say I’ll like him then? If he’s like you,” He quipped, and Bill rolled his eyes playfully, keeping them carefully on the road.

“He’s cuter than I am,” He joked, and then went on with what he was saying. “He’s ten- you remember I told you about my mom’s teen pregnancy,” He chuckled while Stan nodded, and Bill looked over to him as the traffic light turned red. His blue eyes were wide, and Stan wondered if he’d had coffee that morning. “Well they decided to have Georgie at, you know, a normal parenting age.”

Stan thought back to the night that he and Bill had laid in bed and told each other all about their childhoods. Stan had told Bill all about Richie and Beverly and how he got where he was (Save the part about his dad being wary about the whole coming-out thing, and wanting to maybe tell his parents about Bill) and Bill had told Stan all about his childhood as Stan traced shapes into his bare skin.

Bill’s mother - Sharon, Stan’s memory supplied - had gotten pregnant with Bill at only fifteen, and when faced with wanting to keep the baby while her parents (Bill’s estranged grandparents and prominent members of some Christian denominated church) pressured her to keep it a secret and have an abortion, she was kicked out of their home. Her boyfriend’s parents (Bill’s not-estranged grandparents) ended up taking her in and helping her raise Bill for his first few years.

Stan looked lopsidedly at Bill and thanked God for them for only a minute before delving back into his thoughts, Bill’s chattering voice a background noise.

Stan knew the beginnings of Bill’s upbringings were hard - Bill had told him the whole rags to riches story. The short version was much simpler than the longer - though Bill could relay many details if Stan asked him to  - and was basically that Bill’s parents had trouble making their own money until Bill was ten or so, when Zack Denbrough (Bill’s father) started up his own realty business.

“He got his idea from one of my ss-scuh-school projects,” Bill told him, threading fingers through Stan’s hair with a chuckle, “I was doing a little p-p-hoster board about safaris and, like, desert islands and stuff. I used to be obsessed with stuff like thhh-that, I wanted to be an explorer more theh-th-han anything. Anyway, I was asking him my pr-practice questions, and the first was about the f-ff-uh-hirst thing you should do on a desert island. The right answer is-,”

Stan had cut him off then with a small smile. “Find drinkable water,” He said. It’d been drilled in his head by various scout masters since he could remember. When Bill quirked an eyebrow, Stan let out a breathy laugh and flattened his palm against where he was just tracing swirls onto Bill’s skin. “I was a boy scout ‘til I turned fifteen.”

Bill grinned and hummed, and then finished his story. “And he s-ss-said make a sh-helter, when I told him h-he was wrong, he leaned back wuh-wih-hith this weird look on his face and he was pretty quiet ff-for a minute. Then he messed up my huh-hair and said, ‘Well, Bill,’” Bill deepened his voice dramatically, imitating his father, “‘Maybe not yet.’ I didn’t know wh-huh-hat he meant at the time,” Bill’s voice had gone back to normal. “But sixteen years lah-hater, here we are, and all th-the money is still in real estate, juh-hust like he said.”

Zack’s business wasn’t a hit immediately, but with the first six years it had grown substantially - and by Bill’s sixteenth birthday the Denbrough family was finally living the life they’d all worked their asses off to have. Eight years later, Stan knew, Zack Denbrough would hand his company over to his eldest son after he graduated.

What Bill failed to mention was that in their financial stability and prime ages of thirty two and thirty-three, the Denbrough parents had decided to have another baby, which he was now piecing together for Stan as they drove to the airport.

“I was, m-mm, sixteen, I must hah-have been, at the time,” Bill nodded, “And I ruh-reh-remember being over the moon about being an older bb-bruh-hother. Before I relocated my off-ffice to so far from home I used to come home every weekend ju-hust to see him,” He smiled as he pulled into a space, having paid for some VIP parking and Bill mumbling about wishing his parents would just let him fly Georgie out in his jet. Stan rolled his eyes at that.

He put the car in park and jumped out much quicker than Stan, already meeting him around the side of the car and linking their hands together - and Stan actually almost gasped, surprised until Bill started basically dragging him to the building. Stan felt like he was jogging to keep up.

“My legs aren’t as long as yours, you maniac,” He tugged on Bill’s hand as he planted his feet into the ground, hoping to stop Bill. He did, and Bill whined, looking to Stan impatiently.

Stan quirked an eyebrow when Bill dropped his hand and then crouched in front of him to be more his height.

“What are you doing?” He asked before Bill could explain.

“Gih-hiving you a piggyback ride so I don’t have to wait for you to cah-hah-tch up, duh. Get on,” Bill instructed.

Stan looked around warily for a second, expecting eyes to be on him and his weird- Bill, but found most people were busy on their devices or simply minding their own business, trying to find their flights and dragging their luggage in and out.

“I could alw-wuh-hays leave you here,” Bill teased him impatiently, and Stan rolled his eyes as he threw his arms around Bill’s neck and jumped on his back.

Bill didn’t even wobble, and Stan didn’t know why he was surprised, knowing Bill could bench upwards of two-hundred pounds and Stan wasn’t even really close to that. He simply grabbed Stan’s thighs just above his knees and jumped a bit to situate Stan, making a little bit of laughter escape his mouth. He hadn’t been carried like this since he was a child, of course, it seemed ridiculous to him now that he was reliving it at twenty two.

Bill walked even faster that before and Stan held on tight to him, chastising him for running three times when it felt like he was, no matter how much he giggled.

“I’m not!” He insisted, smile evident in his voice, slowing down only to speed back up within the next minute.

The pair reached Georgie’s terminal within the next few minutes, Bill apparently knowing just where to go, or maybe Stan hadn’t noticed if he looked at any direction signs. Bill let go of Stan’s legs and bent back down so Stan’s feet could touch the floor again, and Stan let go of his neck, brushing himself off.

Bill gingerly took his hand again, lacing their fingers together, and Stan pretended not to notice.

They stood there like that for a moment, not speaking as Bill swayed back and forth and watch people pour out of the terminal with seeming a lot of concentration. Stan didn’t really know what to look for, or else he would help, but he supposed Bill didn’t need it when a child’s loud voice screeched, “BILLY!” From thirty feet away.

Bill dropped Stan’s hand to crouch down on one knee, opening his arms for the small child barreling toward him.

“Georgie!” He bellowed with a loud laugh as he enveloped the child that ran into his arms, and Stan thought he might’ve knocked Bill off balance as the two wobbled. “Hey, buddy, how are you?”

Georgie was practically buzzing in Bill’s arms, literally bouncing up and down with his arms around Bill’s neck. “Good, good!” He cheesed. showing off his teeth. One by the left side of his mouth was missing, and it was endearing.

Bill was right, he was adorable. It might’ve helped he had Bill’s signature blue eyes, and he wondered which of their parents they got that from.

Stan stood back a bit awkwardly, but with a smile, watching the heartwarming moment unfold and then watching Bill pull back from the small boy, holding him at his shoulders.

He turned to Stan, who had his hands clasped excited in front of his chest and probably looked the epitome of awkward.

“This is Stan,” Bill smiled, lowering his voice to a normal level, “He’s…” Stan caught Bill hesitate, and then his eyes flicked to Georgie, who looked up at him with friendly curiosity. “A friend that’s staying with me, for a little while.”

That stung a little bit, but Stan knew that it was more than warranted. He didn’t know if they’d really even classified as friends at that point.

Stan extended his hand and grinned politely. “Hi, Georgie, nice to meet you.”

Georgie looked to Bill before looking back at Stan and taking his hand, shaking it. “The better Denbrough,” Georgie nodded matter of factly, making Stan laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bill rolled his eyes, pulling himself up from the ground, “Let’s go get your bags.”

Georgie grabbed surprisingly for Stan’s hand instead of Bill’s, and Stan looked at him, confused for a moment, before shrugging and letting him take it. He didn’t really know why Georgie was holding his hand. He wasn’t holding anyone’s hand when he was ten, but to each his own, Stan supposed. Bill was walking ahead of them - always having to be the leader - and didn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you stayed with Bill?” Georgie looked up to him, eyes wide and curious.

Stan coughed while he stalled for an answer.

“Oh, uh-,”

“It’s nuh-not important,” Bill threw behind him, cutting Stan off as they approached the bag deposit. Stan let out a relieved breath. “Are your buh-bag tags still the same?”

Once Georgie’s belongings where collected, all packed neatly into one duffel and his carry-on backpack, they went back to the car and this time Bill doesn’t rush and they don’t hold hands - because Georgie does. He held onto Stan’s hand all the way to the car, Bill carrying his bag, and skipped beside him. Being small and having much shorter legs, his pace was fast for him but manageable for Stan. He could see the Denbrough brothers’ similarities already.

Bill and Georgie talked excitedly on the ride, mostly about things going on in both of their lives. It was Georgie’s spring break, too, next week, and Stan was surprised that public school had break so early this year. It was barely March.

Stan didn’t talk much, he never did in the presence of new people, but he made a few quips here and there and Georgie erupted into laughter each time. Stan was surprised again, for the millionth time that morning; he didn’t think he was really that funny.

He caught Bill glance at him with small smiles a couple times, and he promptly and insistently ignored the butterflies that erupted in the pit of his stomach.

Bill encouraged Georgie up the stairs to his room to unpack the minute they’d walked through the door, leaving Stan alone with him in the kitchen and unsure what to do. He supposed he would go back to his room until Bill spoke up, looking bashful.

“Wih-hih-hill you help me make breakfast?” He avoided eye contact, rooting through the doors for a spatula, having gotten a pan out already. “He luh-likes French toast, and I usually fuh-fuh-fake that I can cook when he’s around, but I guh-gave the cooks off for the week,” Bill confessed, clearly a little embarrassed, and looked at Stan finally with bright, hopeful eyes.

This situation was very familiar. Maybe not the circumstances, but the situation.

It warmed Stan’s heart to see the trouble Bill was already making an effort to go through for Georgie, even if he was being a dumbass about it.

“You’re lucky I’m here, then,” Stan replied, cracking a smile, “You’d burn the whole house down.”

Bill laughed lightly, and so Sunday-style Breakfast commenced. Stan made and mixed the batter while Bill cut the bread, and then Bill sat adjacent to Stan on the counter while Stan worked over the stove. Neither of them made any attempt to fill the comfortable silence, and for a little while, it was possible to pretend that it was still early December and that things never changed at all. It was _easy_ , in fact, to pretend that things never changed, and that they’d continued living their lives in the same puppy-love bliss they had between them those first few months, and that Stan was still contemplating being in love with Bill.

But he supposed the latter never really stopped in the first place.

Stan sat up next to Bill when their meals were plated and Georgie had returned from unpacking. Georgie sat across from him, Bill between them both at the head of the table meant for ten people instead of three.

“You made French toast?” Georgie exclaimed excitedly when Bill handed him his plate.

Bill rolled his eyes in an exaggerated, playful manner as he took his seat. “Well, d-d-duh, it’s your favorite. How could I not?”

Stan could barely hold back a smile at Bill’s behavior around his brother. He almost forgot that Bill was sweet and remembered minuscule things like that.

Stan had an odd, lingering feeling that Georgie was flirting with him all through the meal - in a weird, kind of funny, fifth grader way. He laughed loudly at any of Stan’s jokes - some probably even too satirical for him to really understand - and tried relentlessly to get his attention when Stan assumed he’d be focused on Bill, as close as Bill made them sound to be. He brushed it off.

After breakfast, Mike called Stan while he was in the middle of watching Georgie kick Bill’s ass at Mario Kart.

“Hello?” He answered, getting up from the couch and stepping into the kitchen so he could hear over the brothers’ screaming.

“Good morning,” Stan heard Mike’s pleasant smile that usually took up his face, “Got any spring break plans, or?”

“Actually,” Stan peered over the threshold of the kitchen into the living room when he heard Georgie screech particularly loud, and then the beeping that signaled getting hit with a blue shell. “Bill’s little brother is in town for the week, so I’m babysitting the both of them now,” He chuckled. “I’m sorry, but I should be free the end of next week?”

Mike laughed, too. “I hope that goes well, and yeah, next week. Call me up whenever.”

“Will do,” Stan agreed distractedly, still watching Bill and Georgie as Bill victory-danced around the room and Georgie pouted, accusing Bill of cheating. “Talk to you then.”

“Bye, Stan,” Mike concluded.

“Bye, Mike.” And Stan hung up.

The following day was all antics.

Stan woke up to Georgie gently shaking him awake from the side of his bed, whispering his name.

“Stan, Stan.”

“Mmf?” Stan replied, eyes groggily fluttering open.

“Will you help me make breakfast?” Georgie asked as Stan sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I know Billy works really hard and deserves to sleep.”

Stan turned to him and was faced with the same puppy dog eyes he’d gotten used to seeing whenever Bill wanted something. He smiled a little, pushing the covers off of himself and throwing his legs over the side of the bed.

“Sure,” He agreed, “Let me make my bed and I’ll be down.”

Georgie smiled wide back at him before scampering out of the room, and Stan listened as the child’s footsteps bounded down the stairs.

He made his bed quickly but made sure it was as neat as he liked it before beginning to shuffle out of his room.

He stopped briefly before opening his door, listening for the familiar sound of Bill’s snoring. It was extremely faint through the wall, but in the morning silence he could hear it when he strained to. He smiled softly again before exiting his room and rounding the left corner, Bill getting harder to hear as he continued down the stairs.

Twenty minutes later found Stan and Georgie in the kitchen, Stan pouring out pancake batter into shapes on a pan and Georgie sitting on the counter, swinging his legs in the air as they talked. Occasionally, Georgie would jump down and ask Stan to help him pour out a pancake of his own, in which Stan would lean over him and put his hands over top of Georgie’s to guide them.

Georgie, the first contrast to Bill that Stan had noted thus far, could actually cook pretty well. Stan didn’t know why he kept asking for help when he was so clearly capable, but he didn’t question it.

They talked mostly about Georgie, namely his fascination with sea creatures and marine biology. Stan found it impressive that a fifth grader could spout off so many facts about the ocean like he could.

“I think it’s cool because we know more about space than we do about our oceans,” Georgie said while he swung his legs in the air, sitting by Stan on the counter.

“Maybe you’ll be the guy to map out the whole ocean,” Stan remarked, pouring a final pancake into a heart shape and watching is sizzle in the pan.

“I want that one,” Georgie smiled at it and pointed, before looking up to Stan. “I think that would be cool, but I’d rather discover all the sea creatures down there.”

Stan nodded. “That’s a lot to discover. Do you have a favorite of the ones already discovered?”

“Cryptidira,” Georgie recited, and then shrugged while Stan looked at him confused, flipping the pancake. “Sea turtles.”

“Ah,” Stan nodded in understanding, going to the drawer to take out silverware so they could sit down to eat. “Any reason?”

“Nah,” Georgie shrugged again, jumping down from the counter as Stan turned around. “They’re just interesting.”

Stan nodded and Georgie took the silverware from him, grabbing plates down from the counter and taking them in to set the table. Stan almost called him back when he didn’t take a third plate for Bill, but the pancake was almost burning.

“You remind me of a rainbow fish,” Georgie said, seemingly absent-mindedly as he came back into the room and went into the fridge. He grabbed ohhh the orange juice, and Stan almost laughed. He watched Georgie pour himself a glass. “Do you  want any?”

“No, thank you,” Stan smiled, turning around and flicking the stove off. He grabbed another plate from the shelf and began shuffling into the dining room with the pancakes and extra plate. “I don’t like orange juice, but you can pour a glass for Bill. He’s usually hungry right when he wakes up-,”

“I don’t think we should wake Bill up,” Georgie rushed, cutting Stan off while he followed him into the dining room. “Needs his beauty rest.” He joked nervously.

He rushed forward to pull Stan’s chair out, and Stan blushed and sat down - and no sooner did he hear footsteps of the older Denbrough pounding down the stairs before Georgie was getting up in attempt to scamper away.

Bill caught him easily - Georgie’s 4’11 didn’t have much on Bill’s 6’3.

His arms wrapped strongly around Georgie’s waist as the small boy kicked at the body below him, trying to pry Bill’s arms away.

“So,” Bill began, looking at his little brother with raised eyebrows, “Care to explain why th-thhh-ere were th-thuh-three blankets, two couch cushions, and my antique lamp shoved against my door?”

“I don’t know!” Georgie wailed, “Put me down! Stan! Help me!”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest and put on a stern expression, not completely understanding the situation, but willing Bill to put Georgie down. He groaned and complied, literally letting Georgie drop to the floor.

He ran to hug Stan around his torso.

“ _Stan_ ,” Bill whined, acting as if he were ten as well, gesturing to Georgie - who was busy playing victim.

“You scared him,” Stan cooed in reply, looking down at the child that had buried his cheek into his side, stroking his hair lightly.

Bill rolled his eyes. “You’re such an _asshole_ , George.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and Georgie poked out his tongue.

“No, _you’re_ an asshole,” He sneered back.

This threw the brothers into a banter, and after breakfast, Stan didn’t know if he could bare to hear the word ‘asshole’ ever again.

But that was only the beginning.

Bill made Georgie go upstairs to shower while they cleaned up, claiming he smelled like a dog, and Stan was just glad he didn’t say asshole as he watched Georgie march up the steps.

Stan followed a minute after, taking the time to rinse off his plate and silverware and put them in the dishwasher before heading up. The shower began running as he past it to go into his room, and then not five minutes later he was summoned frantically back out into the hallway by a loud shriek and then deeper bowls of laughter.

He was greeted by the sight of Bill doubled-over, practically crawling out of the bathroom - he was laughing so hard.

“What the fuck?” Stan questioned, eyebrows upturned again, waiting for Bill to catch his breath to explain.

“Noth-th-th-thing bad,” He breathed heavily, “I just turned the water to cold.”

“That’s mean, Bill,” Stan stifled his own laughter over Bill’s little prank. It’s much funnier when it’s not Richie doing it to him, apparently.

“I thuh-think it’s fair payback for barricading me in my room so he could ss-suh-ss-spend time with you,” Bill chuckled a final time as he got up and straightened himself out.

“Oh?” Stan felt his cheeks get a little warmer. “D’you…” He paused, considering not finishing his question, but he was curious and therefore pressed on. “D’you think he has a little crush on me?”

The shower had resumed by now.

“Oh, I wuh-wuh-wouldn’t be surprised,” Bill licked his lips and pivoted on his heel, turning to his own room. “I told you, he’s just like me.”

He walked away then, without letting Stan see his face, leaving him instead with a darkening blush on his own.

The rest of their morning was spent in the living room watching fish documentaries that Stan knew Bill was only pretending to be engrossed in by the pointed glances and fingers that twirled in the hair at the nape of Stan’s neck every once in a while.

Georgie was sat between them, unmoving and completely enraptured by the screen and the british voice overlay, with Bill’s arm thrown over the couch behind them and just close enough to touch Stan. He tried to roll his head back onto Bill’s fingers when he tickled him, but Bill would withdraw in time and his hand would return to where it rested. It was like a little, unspoken game, that would have annoyed Stan had it been with anyone else under any other circumstances. It was entertaining him through the documentary as well, after all.

It was about noon when Bill’s phone rang loud and he excused it as a business call, going outside onto the balcony to take it.

“Wanna help me make lunch?” Georgie turned to Stan innocently, Stan smiling and nodding in return.

Georgie did most of the lunch-making. He put the sandwiches together and kept Stan plenty busy grabbing plates and cups and condiments and looking for spices Stan didn’t know why Georgie needed. His simplest task came when Georgie handed him a cup of milk and asked him to bring it to Bill, Stan taking it without question and bringing it into the living room where Bill stood hanging up his phone.

Stan stood stupidly for a moment, faltering and forgetting what he was doing while he watched sunlight outlining Bill’s glowing figure. His sleeves were rolled up just enough to attractive expose his forearms, and of course he would be able to manage to look beautiful in gray sweatpants.

Stan shook his head and walked up to Bill again, listening to plates clink on the table as Georgie set down the sandwiches he prepared.

“Georgie told me to give this to you,” He handed the glass robotically to Bill, cursing his own awkwardness around someone he’s known for months and probably shouldn’t still take his breath away like this.

Bill took the glass and swirled it suspiciously, and Stan turned up an eyebrow for what felt like the millionth time that day. “What did he do to it?”

“What?”

Bill let out a small laugh and walked around the dining room into the kitchen, beckoning for Stan to follow. Georgie didn’t notice, Stan catching a glimpse of him staring down at his phone and tapping the screen intently, probably playing a game.

Bill lead him to the sink and promptly dumped the milk out. Stan was about to protest until a round, orange yolk hit the metal of the sink, and his mouth opened into an ‘O’.

“I did th-hiss to dad when I was thirteen,” Bill laughed, “But it was a nice try.”

Stan giggled a bit and relished in Bill’s face lighting up the little that it did before realizing their close vicinity and taking a step backward.

“We should go eat,” He willed his cheeks to return to normal color.

Bill nodded and they walked back to the dining room, taking their seats. Georgie looked up innocently.

“Try a t-truh-hick I haven’t already done to dad next time,” Bill smirked, taking his seat at the head of the table. Georgie rolled his eyes and took another bite of his own food, looking down at his phone again. Stan looked down at his and took a bite as well.

“ _FUCK_!” Bill yelled then, Stan’s head darting up as Bill spat into his napkin and then jumped up from the table. He drank milk from the carton and Stan was about to protest before he was cut off by Georgie’s loud laughter.

“Juh-Georgie!” Bill snapped, “What the ff-fuck was on that?”

“Tabasco and marmite,” Georgie cackled, “The egg was just a diversion!”

“That’s so fucking gross, George,” Bill groaned, taking another gulp. Stan turned his disapproval to Georgie.

“I’m disappointed in you,” Stan told him, trying somewhat to stimulate a stern adult. Georgie’s evil smile faltered.

“But- but-!” He started, beginning to give Stan the Denbrough puppy dog eyes again. “He started it!”

“Did not!” Bill retaliated.

“Did so!” Georgie stayed focused on Stan, however answering Bill. “Don’t be disappointed in me!”

“I am,” Stan said with a curt nod, and heard Bill mock-laugh behind him.

“Wuh-worth it. Stan likes me better now since you’re being mean to me.”

Stan ignored his comment while Georgie stuck out his tongue, a childish equivalent of the middle finger.

After lunch (and Stan making Bill a new sandwich), they settled down to play a board game on the living room floor, spring afternoon light shining down on where they sat. Stan had suggested monopoly, but Bill shot that down as soon as Georgie suggested he would need to be on someone’s team, so they ended up playing LIFE instead.

Right off the bat, Georgie played by predictable, ten year old standards - refusing to ‘Go to School’ like Bill and Stan, against Stan’s advisory. Otherwise, the game was going pretty smoothly - Georgie was eloping, Stan had just taken a year abroad for four-thousand-dollars, and Bill (who had inappropriately snickered when Georgie pulled the ‘Entertainer’ career card and Stan shoved him) had just graduated.

“My husband’s a rainbow fish,” Georgie grinned bashfully as he put a second blue person in the car. Stan momentarily forgot that Bill didn’t know what that meant and felt his cheeks dust rose.

“Well my husband’s gonna be Stan,” Bill boasted, not realizing that was what Georgie had essentially just said. He spun the colorful spinner and, sure enough, landed on the same ‘Elope!’ space that Georgie did.

“So, should our last name be Denbrough-Uris or just Denbrough?” He teased, rolling his head tauntingly into Stan’s lap from where he laid on the floor. Stan had to pretend the thought didn’t make his stomach turn with butterflies, fake scoffing and pushing Bill off of him.

There was another two round of turns before Stan managed to land on ‘STOP! Get Married!,’ prompting both Denbroughs to jump up and yell some variation of, “Who’s your husband?!”

Stan looked between the two and entertained the thought of simply picking a celebrity, but knew they would complain and make him choose even if he did, so it would be a wasted effort.

“I have to say Bill-,” Bill cut him off with a whoop as Stan reached for a blue person to put into his car, “- If only for his assets. You didn’t go to school, Georgie, I’m sorry.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a small smile playing on his face.

“He p-picked me!” Bill sing-songed, gloating.

“Yeah, for your assets!” Georgie argued, “Implying under any other circumstances he would’ve picked me!”

Bill ignored Georgie in favor of leaning in close to Stan’s ear, easier now that he’d sat up again. “I mean, we both know how much you love them-,”

Stan pushed him off again, rolling his eyes at the dirty joke.

From that point on, throughout the entire game, Bill continuously referred to himself and Stan as ‘we’ - as if they were playing as a team. It made Stan want to laugh, and somehow warmed his heart, but it was also frustrating when he moved his car to follow Stan’s and Stan had to put it back to where it was.

“Okay, so I just had twins,” Stan said absentmindedly as he read the space he landed on, collecting a life tile as well as two other plastic people.

“Did we hah-have twins? Wonderful!” Bill cheered, moving his yellow car up to Stan’s blue one.

“ _No,_ Bill, _I_ had twins, and this is _your_ car, and this is _my_ car.” He went to move the pieces back into their original places.

“So, how it is right now-,” Bill tried to grab them out from his hands, but Stan pulled them into his chest so he couldn’t.

“No!” He argued, “Take your turn, Bill!”

Overall, Stan had landed on two baby spaces, Georgie on one, and Bill on a whopping six. Stan didn’t even know it was possible to have that many kids in the game - he had two sets of twins, three boys, and one girl. He had to pull out a seperate car (Green, he claimed it, because that’s what yellow and blue made) to fit all of them.

“Look how many babies we have!” He proclaimed to Stan, proudly gesturing to his cars and then to Stan’s, “We must be great parents.” He hummed.

“Well, look how manageable our kids are!” Georgie tried to counter, but Bill scoffed and re-informed him he was married to a rainbow fish. Stan and Georgie snickered at his obliviousness.

Stan won, finally, racking up over a million dollars in cash and life tiles, Bill brushing off his second place with bets that he could match that in real life. Stan knew he could easily, and didn’t doubt him.

Bill helped Stan make dinner, and Stan assumed he had to be in some sort of ridiculously good mood, because he stayed teasing Stan and tickling his waist while he was at the stove and constantly _almost_ leaning in to kiss him or fully wrap arms around him. Half of Stan enjoyed it, and the other half wanted to snap at Bill to stop the teasing and pick if he wanted to hold him or not - but he didn’t want to push his luck, so he stayed quiet.

They ate quickly as Bill asked Georgie if he wanted to get ice cream after dinner, and then Georgie was practically rushing them to finish and then out the door. Stan didn’t mind, though it was clear now that Georgie did have a little crush on him, he thought Georgie was adorable.

Of course Bill Denbrough would drive a lamborghini to an ice cream parlor.

Stan felt sort of ridiculous getting in and out of it, it was so out of place - and it was especially weird because he and Richie came to this particular ice cream place a lot last fall when it stayed hot longer than it should have for autumn. Stan wondered passingly if Bill believed in climate change, as someone that benefited from capitalism.

The bell rang above their heads as they entered, and Georgie had his face up against the glass in seconds. Bill put his hand on the small of Stan’s back to guide him inside, and Stan pretended not to blush at the small, insignificant gesture.

Georgie was indecisive but ended up getting mint chocolate chip, Bill got rocky road, and Stan got vanilla, because some things never change. They took a seat by a window, sky already darkening to night, and talked about nothing in particular. Most was banter between the brothers that caused humored laughs to come from Stan. Bill’s left arm was slung around the back of the booth where Stan was sitting, Georgie on his own at the other end. Stan imagined they must look like a little family, though Bill and him were kind of young for kids, and Georgie looked too much like Bill to be assuredly adopted.

Stan stopped his train of thoughts right there.

“You suck, Bill. Your hair is ugly,” Georgie remarked, voice somewhat teasing, and Stan stifled a laugh at the random insult.

“I’m gonna puh-puh-punt you across the earth,” Bill answered coolly, and Georgie stuck his tongue out at him as he turned to Stan smoothly. “By the way, Stan, suh-ss-since some mysterious force jammed my duh-hoor this morning, I think it’s best if I sleep in your room for the week.”

“Hey-!” Georgie started, Stan’s cheeks red, cutting him off.

“It’s your house,” He shrugged in a manner he hoped seemed nonchalant. “You can do whatever.”

 _Yes! Please!_ He yelled internally, but kept it pushed to the back of his mind.

“Fantastic,” Bill smiled, and seemed like he was going to lean into Stan but simply straightened out again, like he didn’t want to push his luck. Stan wished he did, just a little bit.

By this conversation, Stan really shouldn’t have been so surprised when Bill followed him up to his room that night - but he was.

“What are you doing?” He asked, having tried to shut the door behind him and Bill catching it, letting himself inside.

Bill gave him a puzzled look. “Getting ruh-heady for bed?” He answered, an eyebrow quirked up, his statement coming out like a question. Like he were asking Stan’s consent again.

“Oh, you were serious?” Stan nodded, body blushing and going hot. He moved away from Bill and began to pull down the covers of his bed on his side, them all having just come upstairs from watching another fish documentary before bed. “I thought you were just saying that to get a rise out of Georgie.” He admitted.

Bill chuckled, amused. “No, no,” He shook his head and made his way around to the other side, helping Stan pull off decorative pillows and pull down the covers. “You th-think he won’t find ways to lock me in there for luh-luh-longer, but he will if I give him the chance.” He laughed, apparently unsurprised by Georgie’s behavior. Stan smiled at the contagiousness of it, and focused his attention on the bit of comforter he held in his hand. He squeezed it for a moment before climbing in and under the covers. Bill did the same, and Stan had to look to the ceiling so he wouldn’t get caught staring at Bill’s muscles like he used to do shamelessly. He almost wished Bill would’ve chosen to sleep with a shirt on for once. Almost.

There was a small knock on the door, then, and Stan could’ve sighed with relief at not having to make more conversation with Bill, still afraid it would become stifled and awkward.

“Come in,” He nodded, sitting up a bit. He leaned his weight back on his hands, feeling Bill shift in bed beside him.

Georgie’s head poked through the door and his eyes scanned over the two of them.

“Goodnight, _Stan_ ,” He nodded, looking to Stan.

“Goodnight, Georgie, did you want anything before you go to b-?”

“No,” Georgie answered quickly and went to close the door, but Bill’s voice stopped him, half-amused and feigning hurt.

“Georgie!” He fake-wallowed, “Wh-whuh-what if I die in my sleep, you duh-don’t even want to tell me you love me.”

Georgie rolled his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, and Stan silently agrees. “See you in the morning, slut,” He deadpanned, and Stan had to bite his lip from laughing out loud as Georgie shut the door.

“Duh-d-does mom know you use that language?!” Bill called, though Georgie could be heard shuffling back down the hall. Bill snickered and turned back to Stan, who tensed unintentionally and cursed himself for it when Bill mimicked him.

He shuffled to the left most side of the bed to turn his bedside light out, silently allowing darkness to encompass them. He got under the covers and changed position three times, used to sleeping in the middle of the bed, even when he and Bill slept together, as it was usually routine for them to be snuggled there. But neither moved from his side for what felt like a long time, until Bill spoke up.

“I’m cold,” His voice was quiet but still so loud in the complete silence of the room and the house.

“It’s your house,” Stan answered, not sure what Bill expected him to do about it. “You know where all the blankets are.”

“I duh-don’t wanna get up,” Bill excused, and Stan sat up with a sigh.

“Okay, tell me where they are and I’ll get you one.”

Bill grunted, sounding frustrated, and then let out a sardonic laugh. “Jesus Cuh-cuh-Christ, Stan, do you want to cuddle or nn-not?”

Stan felt stupid for a minute, and contemplated his answer, though he knew he didn’t really need to. They lapsed back into silence for a second.

“...Yes,” Stan broke it, voice squeaking and quieter than Bill’s, and now his eyes had adjusted to the light enough that he could make out Bill’s figure in the dark. He watched him shuffle closer, opening his arms slightly.

Stan laid back down and scooted closer to the center of the bed, slotting perfectly into strong arms that knew how to hold him since the very first day. His nose rested against Bill’s chest, barely tracing it, and Stan felt lips press to his forehead and Bill sigh through his nose. He closed his eyes as the breath passed over him, and before he knew it he was drifting to sleep entangled with Bill, too tired to smile but too content to frown.

The following day Stan found himself squished between Bill and Georgie on the couch again and trying to pretend that Finding Nemo held the same innocence it did before he met Bill, who had begged Georgie to watch anything but more sea creature documentaries. The two men both went red when he chose this, but said nothing, as well as avoided eye contact for the next ten minutes.

But forty five minutes in Georgie had his head on Stan’s shoulder, leaning against him, and Stan had his own tucked just under Bill’s arm that reached across the back of the couch, between his shoulder and his chest. A blanket was thrown across their laps, and Bill’s head rested on the top of Stan’s ever so, and Stan occasionally felt his arm move to play with Georgie’s hair. It made him smile, they were both adorable when they weren’t bickering.

Still, though, Stan was strongly pretending that he hadn’t already watched this with Bill and hadn’t made out to the part that was coming up and also hadn’t received a handjob in that same fifteen minute timeframe - until Bill’s hand was removed from around the couch to Stan’s thigh under the blanket.

Stan shot him the meanest glare he could manage, but Bill wasn’t watching him. He watched the movie with the slightest smirk on his face, and Stan didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh or die on the spot.

So he just did nothing, and sat through the rest of the movie with Bill’s warm hand staying remarkably still and Georgie not noticing a thing.

Saturday only brought on more fish-themed entertainment, as Bill was still tired of documentaries and Georgie nearly screamed in pure elation when he suggested they “just go to an aquarium, or something.”

He wouldn’t shut up about sharks the whole way there, and though Bill requested six times that he did, Stan still saw the smile play on his lips each time Georgie gushed.

It was really no surprise when they got there and Georgie didn’t even want to wait to check in, grabbing Stan’s hand and running straight for the exhibits, leaving Bill behind at the desk to pay. Stan looked over his shoulder as he jogged to keep up with the energetic boy with a death grip on his hand, and was met with a soft smile from Bill as he handed some bills over to the concierge.

Stan’s heart jumped in his chest and he turned back around, trying to focus on keeping up with Georgie instead.

Bill had caught up to them pretty quickly, as at every exhibit Georgie stopped to spout of facts about the sea creatures in it, and pressed his face to the glass for prolonged amounts of time. Sometimes, he’d point to different fish and simply say which kind they were. Stan was impressed, but he supposed he’d be the same way if he didn’t tell Bill to take him home from the bird sanctuary. He wondered if he sold it again, and was half sorry he didn’t tell him that he loved it.

Stan spent a lot of time watching Georgie and nodding along with whatever he said - interested by the information but in no way planning on retaining it, except when they got to the starfish exhibit, which he found particularly interesting.

“Starfish regenerate their limbs through fission in case, like, their arms get chopped off, or something. It’s _asexual reproduction_.” Georgie smiled wide, seemingly proud of himself for knowing the term, and Stan understanding it from having taken biology. “And they have, like, really deep symbolism,” Georgie explained, and Stan quirked up an eyebrow. “Bill,” He turned to his older brother excitedly. “I’ve actually been meaning to tell you this, since you write and all, maybe it’ll mean something to you, I think it’s cool.” He turned back to the glass and looked at the lazy, barely moving creature intently. “They represent _divine and infinite love_ , or something along those lines, and,” He put up air quotes, “ _Salvation through hardships_ , whatever that means.” He shrugged.

Stan looked to Bill briefly, who he found already looking at him. Bill looked away quickly.

Stan thought the whole ordeal was...sort of adorable.

It really didn’t help Stan’s case of the butterflies when Bill would take Georgie up onto his shoulders when crowds got too big, so that Georgie could see better, and keep a hand on Stan’s back to keep the three of them together. His other hand was always up on Georgie’s leg to keep him steady. Stan couldn’t help his mind from wandering from the fish and the beautiful, glowing blue water that reflected onto Bill’s face and eyes to some alternate universe in which instead of Georgie on Bill’s shoulder that it was their own child, and instead of Bill cautiously holding Stan at arm’s length, he’d hold Stan’s waist up against his own.

But Stan returned to reality and tried notion that that would never happen.

They were finishing looking at the sharks exhibit (Georgie was a little upset with Bill that he wouldn’t let him go swimming with them in accordance with the program the aquarium offered, and even more upset that Stan backed Bill up, so he’d just finished his tangent on how friendly sharks _really_ were) when Georgie’s attention was caught quickly by a kids’ guide talking wildly about some species of tortoise, and Stan wasn’t surprised when Georgie ran to him and the other children excitedly. He looked to Bill for some instruction of what to do while waiting for Georgie, and was met with Bill looking above at the tall glass that went far above their heads and made their faces glow blue. Stan decided he would look around on his own a bit as well, he just wouldn’t go far.

He walked to an interestingly shaped exhibit, made so that you could get a 360 view of the fish, able to walk all the way around the cylindrical pillar in the center of the room. Stan briefly wondered who the genius architect was that designed the building was, before a little flash of color sped by his vision and he refocused his attention.

A school of seahorses swam back in front of his vision, vibrant pinks and greens and yellows making Stan smile in surprise. He looked to a plaque mounted onto the glass bearing information about them, and onced over the lines about male seahorses being the ones to fertilize and carry the babies in a pouch of some sort after the female gives him the eggs after courting. It seemed odd to Stan, but there was credible science behind it, and he wasn’t one to question nature so he simply looked back to where he previously did - face met by a bright green, obviously male and obviously pregnant seahorse. He giggled a little at the pleasant surprise before the creature scooted away and Stan was left looking through the glass, gaze shifting and being met again with a pair of eyes on the other side.

It was Bill, giving him a look he’d only seen when he’d had to pry his eyes open on Sunday mornings and found Bill already looking down at him; It was a look he’d only seen on nights that Bill sleepily carded his fingers through Stan’s hair and the TV blinked different colors on their faces and the room was filled with nothing but the peaceful silence he’d only ever been able to have with Bill; It was a look he’d seen (and maybe, it occurred to him now, missed) a million times over and still made his face and chest hot. Bill looked at him with that stupid, lazy smile just barely ghosting his face, eyes relaxed, his forearm holding him up at he leaned against the pillar.

Stan’s heart stirred in his chest.

“Stop looking at me!” He called, half a smile on his surely pink face, not loud enough to be yelling but loud enough for Bill to hear him around the glass pillar.

“Okay, okay,” Bill laughed lightly, his voice muffled through the glass, “I’ll stop.”

But he still stood there giving Stan the same, ridiculously loving gaze, and Stan had to force his hands over his eyes just to shake the odd feeling that came with being shamelessly stared at.

“I said stop!” He called again, rubbing at his cheeks and willing the redness out of them, still looking down at his shoes.

“You know,” Bill’s voice was a little closer, and a becoming less muffled by the second, “You wouldn’t know if I wuh-was looking at you if you weren’t looking at me, too.”

“God, are you ten, too?” Stan tried to shrug off, refuting Bill’s simple but very sound logic.

He looked up when a hand came gently onto the small of his back, and turned his neck a bit to look at Bill standing behind him.

“Twenty-seven next month, but good guess,” Bill laughed breathily.

“I know,” Stan mumbled, turning his attention back to the seahorses that still swam around in their school. He wondered in between speaking if they ever got tired. “April twelfth.”

Bill hummed positively behind Stan, the warmth of his hand still on Stan’s back.

“Look at that one,” Stan said distractedly, eyes being drawn once again to the bright green seahorse, nodding to it. “I like him.”

“Which one?” Bill questioned, and Stan turned a little bit to see his eyes scanning the glass, and he raised a finger against it. “That one?”

“No,” Stan furrowed his eyebrows, taking Bill’s hand in his and pointing him in the right direction, following the seahorse’s movement with Bill’s finger. “This one. I’ve named him Paul, officially.” Stan joked, accompanied by a small hiccup of laughter at himself.

“He’s huh-having babies,” Bill commented, hand quickly moving from Stan’s back to his waist, like he was hoping Stan wouldn’t notice. He did, but he didn’t care.

“Yeah,” Stan said quietly, holding on gently to Bill’s hand gently as he dropped it, almost hoping Bill wouldn’t notice. He did, apparently, but didn’t mind, as he opened his palm and invited Stan to lace their fingers together silently. He slid his fingers between Bill’s before speaking again. “He is.”

“Do you luh-like him?” Bill started, and Stan could feel the babble coming on as Bill laid his head on Stan’s and felt the hand that was on his waist become an arm wrapping around his torso. “I can buy him, o-uh-or this entire aquarium, if you want it-,”

“No, Bill,” Stan laughed, “Jesus Christ.”

“Um, _yes_ , Bill,” Georgie’s voice came from beside them suddenly, making them jump, Stan’s head hitting Bill’s jaw forcefully.

“ _Fuck_ ,” He swore, arm tightening around Stan as he took his hand to rub his jaw and mouth. “Nuh-not for you, you’re an asshole.”

Georgie hmph’d, turning around with his arms crossed and beginning to walk away, and Stan pulled himself from Bill’s grip (A bit reluctantly, not that he would admit that) to follow him.

“Are you okay?” He turned his head back to Bill briefly and offered, quirking up an eyebrow. “Sorry, he scared me.”

Bill rubbed his hand over his jaw again but gave a small smile and curt nod.

Their trip ended with a swing by the gift shop, if you could call it that. It really was Georgie dragging Bill in zigzagging directions through the store and Stan meandering around by himself looking at sea theme knick-knacks.

He knew Bill was going to pay for whatever he wanted (after everything plus offering to buy him the entire aquarium, that was very clear) so when he happened across shot glasses with different types of fish on them, he didn’t hesitate to pull ten off the shelf. He didn’t even need shot glasses, nor was he going to use them, or even put them on display, he supposed it was the sheer novelty that attracted him to purchasing them. That, and the fact that Bill’s money was completely disposable. Stan remembered joking that he might as well floss with threads of hundred dollar bills.

He wondered along some more, shot glasses held carefully in his hands, ‘til he came upon a shelf full of beautiful seahorse ornaments. There were ones for christmas trees, there were paper weights, and there were keychains.

He picked up a paper weight and examined it, watching the light glint off of the glass. It was a green seahorse, like the one he’d seen at the exhibit, but much less pregnant. He smiled softly and got on his tiptoes to peer over to the counter, spotting Bill and Georgie waiting in line - Bill with his arms stuffed full of stuffed animals and various other items and Georgie beaming wide. Stan chuckled to himself and made his way over to the pair just as they stepped up to check out.

“Ten shot glasses?” Bill quirked an eyebrow up at Stan as he mumbled down to him. Stan licked his lips and tried to hide a giggle.

“Gifts for your parents,” He retorted, “I imagine they need them when both you and Georgie are around.”

Bill raised his hand to his heart in mock offense, but the cashier brought his attention back before he could reply.

The hand on his chest went gently to Stan’s waist, pulling him slightly closer and squeezing as the other typed in his debit card pin.

They went to dinner after, and Stan thought it was really nice. It was Outback, as Georgie picked, so it wasn’t fancy, but still nice.

Bill still ordered for Stan.

Stan pretended he didn’t sort of miss that.

Stan was tired once they got home, and left Bill to watch Shark Week with Georgie downstairs (as discussed in the car) as he pulled himself upstairs and into his room. He was careful not to let his bags fall carelessly onto his bed, but instead remove their contents cautiously. He set the shot glasses on his desk for the moment being, discarded the paper bag in his wastebasket, and sat on his bed holding the little paper weight seahorse.

He turned it over in his hands a few times, running his fingers over the creases in the colored glass, marveling at it as his door slid open with a _shhh_ against the carpet. He looked up, not startled, but surprised.

Bill stood in front of him, one arm behind his back as he awkwardly tried to close the door behind him without turning around. Stan smiled a little, but remained overall confused. He wanted to know what was behind Bill’s back.

“D’you remember what Juh-Georgie said about starfish earlier?” He started, looking to Stan hopefully.

Stan chuckled. “That they reproduce through severed limbs?”

He knew that’s not what Bill was referencing, but decided, in his good mood, to give Bill something to work for.

“No, smartass,” Bill chuckled in return, looking at his feet for a moment before looking back up at Stan. “The part abuh-hout being a symbol of, like, infinite love, and all that.” He shuffled continuously toward Stan, who stood lightly to meet him, placing his seahorse gently on his desk closeby.

He seemed nervous, or at least slightly unsure of himself, and Stan couldn’t help but think it was all his fault for instilling any doubt in the man in front of him.

He nodded slowly, and Bill finally stopped in front of him so they were maybe a foot or so apart. Stan wanted to pull him even closer, but Bill obviously had something on his mind, so he waited.

He pulled his hand from his back. In it, he held a plush and soft starfish and presented it to Stan - who looked from Bill’s reddening face to the toy and then back to Bill.

“I know this ss-suh-suh-suh-,” He cut himself off to take a deep heave of air. “ _Seems_ kind of stupid,” He rolled his eyes at himself, clearly embarrassed although Stan felt nothing but touched, “But I got this for you.”

Stan looked back to the stuffed animal that Bill now held with both hands between them, and took it into his own. He inspected it curiously, as if Bill were joking, but he knew that he wasn’t. He looked back up to Bill with his mouth still slightly ajar in surprise, as it must have fallen when Bill gave it over. “Thank you, Bill.” He managed to sputter out on his way up, meeting the bright blue eyes that poured sincerity into his own. Stan turned briefly to tuck the pillow onto his bed, and then back to Bill, who still stood close and who Stan still wanted even closer.

Bill smiled softly and lifted his hand lightly to Stan’s face, moving away a curl that had fallen into his eyes. He tucked it back behind Stan’s ear, and Stan leaned into the touch first, and then before he knew it he was cupping Bill’s hand over his cheek and leaning up toward him as Bill leaned down, both of them successfully catching the other’s lips between their own.

The small, innocently-intended kiss turned deep quickly, Stan feeling like he was making up for two months of lost time in passion this time around as he opened his mouth and felt Bill invite himself to lick inside, Stan reciprocating. He laid back on the bed, arms coming behind him to feel the surface as he backed up on it, Bill crawling over him to chase his lips desperately. He kicked further until he was laid down completely, Bill kneeling over his body and beginning to kiss gently down his jawline and neck, hanging over him.

“Flip over,” Stan said quietly, trying to hold back a soft moan, Bill grazing skin with teeth and eliciting it before complying. He grabbed Stan by the waist and they readjusted themselves, awkwardly for a moment, before Stan was on top of Bill and straddling him while working on his neck in return.

Bill’s breath hitched in his throat more times than Stan could count, barely able to hold back moans as Stan ground their hips together meanwhile leaving dark hickies down his throat. He knew they couldn’t make much noise, definitely not as much as they usually would, as Georgie was downstairs and they’d mutually, silently agreed that they would keep him as clueless as possible.

Slipping cool hands up Bill’s shirt and running his hands over the warm skin mixed with the tender movements of his mouth elicited a poorly-muffled groan, and then Bill held Stan’s hips tightly against himself so Stan could feel his hard on.

“Don’t tuh-tuh-tease me, please,” Bill groaned lowly into Stan’s ear, “If we do this wuh-we really can’t make any noise.”

Stan took his face from the crook of Bill’s neck and looked at him. His face was flushed red with either embarrassment at admitting that fact or with being turned on, more likely a mixture of the two.

“Do you want to?” Stan asked, almost whispering, voice hoarse with lust but willing to stop if that’s what Bill wanted. His eyes dropped to where his hands still lingered on Bill’s skin under his shirt.

“God, yes,” Bill groaned at the same volume, “Of cuh-c-course I do. I want you, Stan.” At these words Stan grabbed quickly to the hem of Bill’s shirt and pulled it over his head, laying it beside them and Bill following suit with Stan’s. Stan leaned down to press feverish kisses to Bill’s chest and abdomen, going lower and lower as he listened smugly to Bill frantically undoing his jeans.

“I want you, Bill,” He confessed between kisses, mirroring Bill’s words, “I want you, I want you, I want you.”

By the time Stan reached the waistband of Bill’s boxers, Bill had managed to wriggle out of his jeans and kick them over the side of the bed. He shook his head violently when Stan mouthed at his erection through the fabric of his underwear, needing pulling on his arm to pull him back up. Stan was met at Bill’s face with closed eyes, a chaste kiss, and a low whine.

“No tuh-tuh-time for that,” He whispered, beginning to kiss down Stan’s jawline to his ear. Stan felt Bill’s hands undoing his own jeans still-semi frantically, but at the same time seemingly wanting to savor every inch of skin so reverently exposed, running his hands sensually all over Stan’s pale body.

Stan whined in returned and reached over Bill - who was trying to suck a hickey in the ever familiar spot of his collarbones - and attempted to fish around for lube in his sidedrawer. He pretended that it wasn’t for when Mike came over, instead that it was for Bill specifically for this occasion.

When his fingers closed around the bottle he pulled back off of Bill finally, his clothes discarded on the floor now and feeling possibly less body-conscious than ever before, passion getting the best of his mind. He wasted no time in thrusting his ass in the air and lubing a finger, watching Bill hold onto his still-clothed cock firmly like it would stop him from getting further turned on.

Stan knew Bill liked to go excruciatingly slowly when he prepped Stan, which was fine, and all, if they were alone, but Stan knew they had limited time and wanted nothing more than to just have Bill and Bill to have him already, so he did it himself. It was rewarding to watch Bill bite down hard on his lip every time Stan’s lips fell open or his eyes fluttered in pleasure, even more so when Bill seemed to just not be able to take it anymore and plunged a hand into his underwear. Stan almost let out a moan at the sight of Bill throwing his head back in relief, almost begged Bill to take his fucking boxers off already so Stan could watch in return.

He lost his patience by the time he reached three fingers, fed up with Bill’s teasing strokes of a dick he couldn’t see anything but the outline off, simply ready to make Bill feel good already.

He pulled out of himself quickly and grabbed greedily for the lube bottle.

“Take your boxers off,” Stan moaned through a whisper, one hand working his own cock for a tease.

Bill did so without thinking, throwing them off of his legs in less than a second and Stan hearing them hit the floor beside them. Maybe he’d have smiled if he wasn’t so driven, filling a palm with lube and stroking Bill intently, pushing into his space with a kiss.

Stan repositioned himself over Bill and Bill pulled out of their kiss quickly, hands capping Stan’s hips before he had the chance to start.

“Th-thuh-hat was too fast,” He sputtered, “You’re gonna get hurt.”

Stan bit his lip and glanced to his side table briefly to read the time. 9:43. Georgie knew his bedtime was 10.

“We have possibly less than fifteen minutes to do this,” He reasoned, feeling Bill rub his thumbs into Stan’s sides as he took his lower lip between his teeth as well.

He was quiet only a second before he sighed, and Stan knew he was only reluctant out of care. “Ih-hif you think you’re ready,” He encouraged, grip on his hips lessening, Bill leaning forward to place tiny kisses to Stan’s chest as he adjusted himself against the headboard.

Stan tucked his head back into the crook of Bill’s neck and the threw his arms around it, hooking them into place as Bill started to slide in him. His size always surprised Stan, feeling the burn that cave with taking Bill’s cock all at once. His lips fell open wide and he faltered a moment as he stretched, and he bit lightly at Bill’s skin to distract from moaning, licking his lips and biting them.

They were slower and more sensual than Stan considered they’d possibly ever been, and stroke after stroke Bill made him feel amazing, they both had hard times being quiet. Their lips often met in sloppy kisses full of pants and bites and tiny whimpers in effort to relieve their tension. Bill guided Stan’s hips perfectly to his, occasionally circling them just right to graze Stan’s prostate, and those times it was especially hard not to moan.

It was a lot like their first time, Stan thought, but less trying to be sexy and more desperation to have Bill closer. Their bodies were connected in the best, most intimate way possible and Stan still rawly craved him like some sort of animal.

He knew he would only admit this in a state like this, blissed out, unfocused on anything other than Bill’s erratic breathing mixing with his own, and overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure he was feeling.

“Fuck, Stan, fuck,” Frequented Bill’s lips, leaving them in whispers and consistently met by, “Oh shit, Bill, like that, like that.”

In minutes they were coming undone together, Bill letting out a small moan into Stan’s mouth as they moved their lips together again in the final desperate act of the night.

Stan was panting when he finished, pulling off of Bill tiredly and reaching into his nearest bedside table for something to wipe himself off with. Again, pretending they were intended for Bill the entire time. And maybe they were.

“I’ll p-puh-put Georgie to bed,” He offered to Stan, who looked to him wide eyed.

“Hurry back,” He smiled, ignoring his disgustingly cliche line.

Bill smiled and put on boxers before Stan watched him scamper from his room to Bill’s own. Probably to put on some pants.

Stan watched the hallway for Bill to pass by again, and when he did, he popped his head back through the door with a soft smile.

“Thanks for being so great around Juh-Juh-J-Georgie,” His eyes gleamed in the soft lighting and Stan couldn’t wait to welcome the man back into his arms and fall asleep to his heartbeat. “I luh-,” He coughed, and Stan waited patiently for his words. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem,” Stan was smiling softly back, and got up slowly to retrieve his underwear from the floor as well as pick up the rest of their clothes.

“Right,” Bill nodded, looking like he was going to say something more, but merely continued with, “I’ll be back in a mm-minute.”

“Okay,” Stan hummed, relishing in their hushed voices. He sat back on the bed as Bill left again, listening to his footsteps pad down the stairs.

“I love you,” He mumbled, smiling stupidly at his hands. Bill might not have heard him, but it was enough.

It was enough.


	13. chapter twelve part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to anyone talking abt reddie: its a stenbrough fic AND richie was just here like last chapter ksjdfhkvjsengkje   
> anyway thank u guys!!! for 3.5k views and 200+ kudos!!!! i realized i literally never gave out my tumblr, which is stanheartsbill, if you want to check me out there!

Sunday morning had the potential to be peaceful, but Stan was coming to find out that if it involved Bill and Georgie simultaneously, it was likely not ever going to be.

They started at breakfast.

Stan had just sat down next to Bill (And made a mental note that Bill had attempted to discreetly scootch his chair closer to himself) when Georgie blurted playfully, “Stan, I could treat you better.”

Stan laughed, putting down the cup of coffee he was sipping from, about to ask where that came from, but Bill beat him to the response.

“Do you wah-hant to go on that?” Bill challenged, and Stan look to him to find him raising an eyebrow smugly. “Try me.”

Stan, apparently always having to be the voice of reason, was going to chime in with ‘He’s just a kid, Bill ,you can’t take him up on this stuff, you’re a fully grown man and millionaire,’ but again, he was beaten to it.

“Yes,” Georgie nodded matter-of-factly, putting down his own glass of orange juice. “Whoever does the most for Stan by the end of the day wins.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Stan chimed in finally, having a minute to speak. The two were quiet, and he sighed exaggeratedly. “Nevermind, do what you will.” He threw up his hands in surrender, having no desire to fight them on this. Apparently, desire to consistently please was, as well, in the Denbrough gene pool.

And that they did.

Stan didn’t think very much of Bill following him up the stairs after breakfast, as he was still only in pajama pants and Stan assumed he was just going to get dressed as he was, and he was half right.

He did not, however, expect to be followed into his room and pushed against the nearest wall with one of Bill’s hands as he used the other to lock it.

“What are you doing?” He asked, pinned under both of Bill’s arms now as Bill was already trailing feather-light kisses across his jawline and then down his neck, and then dropping to his knees ceremoniously in the same instant.

“Geh-getting a _head_ start,” Bill winked, sinking a finger into the waistband of Stan’s bottoms.

The next seven and a half minutes of Stan’s life consisted of his fingers knotted in soft, auburn hair and his head thrown back uncomfortably against a wall.

Things had evened out by the end of the day, whether that was a good or a bad thing, Stan wasn’t sure, but he was flattered nonetheless. Georgie had carefully made his bed and tidied up his room for him (Granted, it didn’t really need tidying, as Stan kept it fairly clean on his own and Bill had maids for a reason, but he appreciated the gesture) and made him a sandwich for lunch, which he found sweet, as there wasn’t much Georgie could really do, being only ten. Bill, aside from the morning occurrence, had otherwise attempted to cook dinner, which ended up being lasagna - the only meal he could make without Stan’s help and without charring it or screwing it up some other way. It was actually pretty good, and given Bill’s track record in the kitchen, Stan thought that should earn him bonus points.

Stan considered them even, until after dinner, when Georgie pranced around the table singing, “I won, I won, I won!”

Stan laughed slightly, amused, and Bill heartily before raising his finger and wagging it in Georgie’s face, making the boy halt.

“Nope,” He shook his head, and Stan panicked a little on the inside, suddenly afraid Bill would expose to Georgie what they’d been up to that morning. Bill must’ve caught his anxiety-stricken look, because he turned away from Georgie to look at Stan, winking at him before going back into the kitchen and returning with a bottle of wine - Stan noted that it was his favorite.

The glass was handed to him, and he looked at it, surprised for a moment, before looking up to a betrayed Georgie and a smug Bill.

“You can’t do that because you’re ten,” Bill snarked, nudging his little brother with his hip.

Stan is sure that Bill knew he won, as it was obvious to Stan that he did and barely used money to - which was a shocker - but Stan couldn’t help but feel the game was really unfair for Georgie, who didn’t really have any idea what he was up against. Bill knew Stan and knew him well, which Stan counted as an unfair advantage.

So, to even the tides, they played Mario Kart, which Georgie, in a turn of events, ended up winning.

“I let you wuh-huh-wuh-win,” Bill sneered, obviously frustrated, and Stan had to stifle a giggle at his childish behavior.

“That’s not what that blue shell said!” Georgie sing-songed in return, once again victory-dancing around the living room.

“Hey!” Bill pouted.

Georgie, once done his spout about being ‘the better-Denbrough,’ skipped over from taunting Bill to the chair Stan sat in.

“Stan,” He dropped onto one knee, eyes closed, and extended an open palm, doing a horrible impression of a sort of Renaissance Era British squire. “In honor of the day’s events, you may accompany me on a date tomorrow night.”

“I _may?_ ” Stan chuckled, and one of Georgie eyes popped open to peek at him.

“May you?” He squeaked, making Stan’s face break out into a touched smile, finally. He looked from the pouting Bill still sitting on the couch and then back to Georgie, laying his hand in the smaller palm at last.

“I suppose I don’t have a choice, considering you so bravely fought for me,” He humored the boy, trying to keep himself from bursting into a fit of giggles once again. “Yes, I’ll go on a date with you tomorrow night.”

“I’m chaperoning!” Bill cut in, and Stan turned to look at him once again, raising an eyebrow and Georgie stood back up.

“Bill, I’m twenty-three,” He said, “I don’t need a chaperone.”

But Bill was mock-glaring at Georgie. “ _He does_.”

Stan laughed again loudly.

They went to Solstice, and Bill, actually, did end up chaperoning, in a way - but only because he was paying.

Georgie made him sit at a separate table by himself, which made Stan snicker.

As soon as food and drinks were ordered (Virgin, obviously, though Stan couldn’t help but think that Bill was probably drinking in attempt to hide the fact of the reason he was there, which made him smile in amusement), Georgie turned and reached into his backpack - that Bill had begged him not to bring with him to a five star restaurant and he did anyway - and pulled out a large scrapbook.

“Mom told me to give this to Billy,” The child smiled mischievously, “But I know he’d never let you look through it so I wanted to be the one to show you.”

Stan leaned forward, his interest piqued.

“Wanna see him as a baby, naked in the bathtub?” Georgie slid the book across the table to him. “Page three.”

“Of course I do,” Stan mirrored his grin, and Georgie scooted so they were sitting next to each other, taking turns flipping through pages, cackling (mostly Georgie) and cooing (all Stan).

Their whole date really ended up centering around Bill regardless, Georgie telling Stan embarrassing things from his childhood that Stan would’ve never known otherwise. He even pulled up pictures from when Bill tried out for the football team and face planted at his first practice, needing stitches. That explained the faint, worn scar in his right eyebrow and below his nose.

Ever like his brother, Georgie consistently made a show about pulling chairs out for Stan, and opening doors for him. He even closed the front door and shooed away the doorman momentarily on the way out just to do it, making Bill groan and Stan stifle a laugh.

After they’d returned home and the date was brought to an end, Georgie ever-so-politely dropped Stan off at his room (He held his hand through the whole house) while Bill leaned impatiently on the wall, looking irritated.

He kissed Stan’s hand and then dropped it, opening his mouth for a likely closing remark just as Bill cleared his throat loudly.

“Okay,” He cut in, “Th-huh-that’s enough, goodnight, Georgie.” He patted the back of the younger boy in the other direction, sending him walking down the hallway.

“Goodnight, loser,” The boy called behind him, “Goodnight, Stan!”

“Goodnight, Georgie,” Stan laughed, and was halfway through his doorway when he was suddenly ushered in the rest of the way, Bill somehow spinning him and pushing him up against the back of it in seconds, the situation escalating in seconds. Stan gasped and heard the lock on the door click, meanwhile Bill was already busy grinding their hips together, both hands coming to pull Stan’s waist up harder against him, making him whimper.

“No, no, darling,” Bill’s lips were by his ear, voice gruff with lust. “We duh-hon’t want Georgie to hear, do we?” His lips dipped into Stan’s neck and placed small kisses there briefly, Stan’s own flying to his clothed chest.

“And if I’m not quiet?” He whispered, smoothing out a wrinkle in Bill’s shirt as the man quickly faced him again, taking Stan’s chin between strong fingers and a thumb and forcing him to look up into his eyes.

“Then you can explain the sss-sound of my hand on your ass through the door to Georgie, _and_ tell him that he can’t cuh-huh-home in because you’re bent over my lap.”

“You wouldn’t,” Stan narrowed his eyes, voice still hushed as Bill dropped his face, instead using his hands to wrap around the back sides of Stan’s thighs, lifting Stan off the ground and onto his torso easily.

“Try me,” Was mumbled into his neck, wetter kisses being planted.

Stan didn’t particularly want to try Bill, so he simply moved his head back to give him more room, tangling his fingers in the back of Bill’s hair.

“You’re jealous of a ten year old,” He couldn’t help but point out, only making Bill hold him up harder against the door, grinding hard against him once, again.

“Didn’t I say tuh-t-to be quiet?” Bill growled, Stan biting his lip so no more noise was come out. Stan’s back was hit with cooler air as Bill grabbed him harder and carried him to the bed, unceremoniously dropping him on it, Stan throwing his shirt over his head swiftly as he got caught up in the moment.

Bill only took a second to tug his own off, Stan admiring the ways his muscles ripples underneath as he did so, and then he was back standing between Stan’s legs and running his hands up and down his torso.

“You look so fucking beautiful with my marks all over yuh-yuh-you, darling,” Bill whispered, thumbs running over yellowing hickies from their romantic encounter only a couple nights before.

Bill backed away and broke their contact only for a brief second to begin eagerly pulling off his pants and boxers, Stan struggling but managing to do the same as Bill rooted through his side drawer for lube, assuredly.

Upon finding it, he was crawling over Stan and finally indulging him in his lips, fast paced and passionate. Stan wanted to him contentedly, but instead reached hands up to cup Bill’s face and try to pull him closer, as if he could get so - until one of Bill’s hands strayed to Stan’s dick that he hadn’t even realized was so hard until he was touched, a small gasp leaving his lips. Bill leaned up and gave him a stern look, and Stan clamped his mouth shut, having to bit down hard on his lips as Bill kept stroking him.

The moans only tried to come more so when minutes passed and Bill already had a finger lubed and thrusting in and out of him slowly, and when he kissed down Stan’s body and ran his tongue around Stan’s rim, Stan thought he was going to combust. He was clearly going to have a fucking issue being quiet.

He brought a hand to his mouth bit down on his own fingers as Bill silently encouraged him to look him in the eyes while he finger-fucked Stan, three fingers still slowly and agonizingly moving in and out of him, Bill smirking at him smugly whenever he came up from lapping at Stan between thrusts of fingers. He was concerned with his issue to be quiet already, unsure how sex was going to go, afraid he would _actually_ make a noise and wake Georgie. That would be the worst thing that ever happened to him, probably.

Bill came up to Stan’s face again after a while, as he was torturing Stan with four fingers at that point and stan was trying to yank him up by his hair. Stan was relieved, channeling his energy into pulling Bill down lustfully into his lips.

“You’re desperate tonight,” Bill whispered as Stan let go momentarily to catch his breath, tracing his nose along Stan’s cheekbone toward his ear.

Stan simply pulled him back to his mouth and bit his bottom lip in response, Bill chuckling lowly, finally pulling his fingers out of Stan - who nearly whined with the sudden emptiness, grimacing, but he was gratified soon enough as Bill repositioned himself over Stan and adjusted Stan’s legs so they would both be comfortable.

Stan swore he heard Bill whimper when he pushed in, but didn’t know for sure, as it was difficult to focus on anything but Bill’s cock inside him and Bill’s torso brushing Stan’s own dick with every thrust forward. It wasn’t long before Stan was writhing underneath Bill with his mouth hung open like he was moaning without sound, occasionally clenching around Bill just to get a reaction. He relished every hiss and squeeze of his eyes his got from Bill, feeling his own ego inflate at the fact that he could so easily make the man feel so good.

His smugness crumbled in seconds, however, when Bill thrusted particularly deep, causing his body to spasm with jolts of pleasure, an unintentional moan tumbling past his lips.

He was hoping it could be forgiven, he’s sure Bill knew what he did, but those notions were thrown away nearly immediately as Bill was quick to put a hand over his mouth and the other on his throat.

San thought his eyes might roll into the back of his head, and it was hard not to whimper with pleasure again.

The hand over his mouth quickly turned to fingers moving sensually past his lips, Stan having to bite down on them whenever Bill’s already fairly merciless pace sped up or he fucked Stan harder and deeper. It was usually the latter, as Stan knew Bill was probably trying to keep skin from making noise, and so hard, deep thrusts were the most optimal. Stan’s body shook with every one, and he was sure he left horrible teeth marks on Bill’s fore and middle fingers.

Within minutes, writhing turned to shaking, Stan unable to keep still as he came undone underneath Bill, the man releasing in return in the same minute.

“Stan,” He groaned quietly, hands having been moved from Stan’s mouth and throat to gripping the pillows beneath his head hard. His head hung low down by Stan’s, almost touching, and he definitely whined when Stan wrapped his legs tighter around him, trying to pull him closer.

Stan’s breathing was ragged as Bill pulled out of him, eyes squeezing and then slowly opening again and revealing the ceiling.

Bill had rolled over beside him, panting heavily himself, and Stan found himself caring less about how messy he was and more about the man next to him.

They were quiet for a long while, catching their breaths, Stan waiting for Bill to break it, fearing that he wouldn’t.

“You’re perfect.” Was all he said, voice sort of dreamy but serious, and Stan’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Do you want to take a bath?” He blurted, and Bill turned to him, quirking up an eyebrow momentarily before his face softened, Stan couldn’t tell with what, but it made him glad.

“Yuh-yy-yeah,” Bill spoke quietly and nodded, watching Stan passively as he nodded back. Their eyes didn’t leave each other’s until Stan finished climbing over Bill and off the bed, gently linking his fingers with Bill’s, feeling him get up after him and follow him to the bathroom.

Tuesday was uneventful, and Stan spent most of it trying to ignore the foreboding feeling in his chest that he felt when he thought of Georgie leaving. But it was calm, which was a nice break from the hectic of the days before. The trio stayed in and played board games and video games and ate lots of snacks for the most part. The only slightly disturbing occurrence was Georgie turning to Stan as Bill stepped out on the balcony to take his second business call of the hour.

“You’re not really just his friend,” Georgie looked at him with wide eyes and a tilted head, “Are you?” The question was knowing instead of curious, and Stan was flustered by it.

“Uh,” He sputtered, not sure how to answer, or if Bill wanted Georgie to know that they had something between them. “Yes?” He said, more like a question.

“That’s fine,” Georgie nodded, turning back to the television screen and shrugging. “I’m still the better Denbrough, you’ll come around.”

Stan laughed a little at this, and then looked past Georgie to Bill, who stood on the back patio, through the glass sliding door. Bill looked in at the same time, catching Stan’s eye and making a goofy face at him while speaking into the receiver. Stan rolled his eyes with a stupid smile on his face.

 _You probably are,_ He thought about Georgie, looking at him briefly before returning his dreamy gaze back to Bill, _but I’ve been settled on this Denbrough for a long time_.

Wednesday was horribly melancholic, and Stan wished with all of his heart that he could somehow manage to drag out the day for at least another week. He could feel it in Bill, too, in the way he spoke to Georgie and the way he laughed too loudly at the boy’s jokes. Stan knew that he was lonely before, and couldn’t imagine the wreck Bill might have been on Georgie’s previous ‘last days.’

“What duh-huh-do you wanna do with yuh-your last day, Georgie?” He asked, plopping down on the couch after breakfast. Georgie still sat in the dining room at the table with Stan, who was collecting plates to put in the sink.

“As the more considerate Denbrough,” He began, Stan already snorting, “I wanna do whatever Stan wants to do.” He looked at Stan, who’d walked into the connecting kitchen at this point.

“ _Great_!” Bill chimed, and Stan listened to his footsteps approach quickly, licking his lips as he began rinsing off dishes. A pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a head buried into his neck briefly, placing a chaste kiss there before turning back to Georgie. Stan couldn’t look at the boy to gauge his reaction, cheeks blushed and unwilling to show his embarrassment. “Behuh-cause that’s _also_ what I wan-want to do.”

“I said it first!” Stan listened to Georgie pout, a small smile of amusement on his features as they bickered.

“I was _born_ first.” Bill retorted, and Stan assumed that must have seemed like a very solid argument to Georgie, because he stomped his foot quietly and mumbled ‘Shoot’ under his breath.

“We could go birdwatching,” Stan finally chirped up, drying his hands before turning in Bill’s arms, his hands coming to rest on Bill’s chest. “If you both want to do something that I do.” He laughed lightly, looking to Georgie with his eyebrows raised.

“That sounds _lovely_ , I’ll go get dressed!” The child grinned, turning and dashing upstairs.

“We hah-haven’t gone birdwatching in a while,” Bill nodded to Stan gently, nose rubbing against his.

“I know,” Stan replied, resisting the urge to let a sarcastic _Gee, I wonder why_ leave his lips. “I miss it.”

Bill smiled contently, but behind it there still showed some sadness, and Stan felt it in himself, too. “Buh-buh-birdwatching it is, then.”

He leaned down quickly, nervously, and gave Stan a shy kiss on his lips, and Stan again resisted the urge to trace his fingers over them after he pulled away.

They went to the same spot Stan had directed Bill to on their first bird-watching date, and Stan was convinced Bill was trying to replicate it, wearing the same stupid designer ripped white t-shirt he did on that same day. He was half embarrassed, and half touched.

“Those are really cool binoculars,” Georgie complimented as Stan pulled out the binoculars Bill had gotten him months ago. Stan had _actually_ forgotten that Bill was his sugar daddy, and it felt weird to keep his gifts now. “Where’d you get them?”

Stan was hoping he wouldn’t ask that.

He looked to Bill, who was conveniently avoiding eye contact by looking at the sky, feigning innocence, and then thought of a quick white lie.

“Bill got them for me,” He nodded, flashing a quick and probably insincere looking smile, “For, uhh, for my birthday.”

Now all he hoped was that Georgie wouldn’t ask his birthday, which wasn’t until July.

He didn’t, and Stan was grateful.

The picnic they’d packed was nice, it was mostly store-bought food, but Stan enjoyed it nonetheless, sitting in between Bill’s legs with arms wrapped around his torso when Bill wasn’t stuffing his own face.

“You’re such a slob,” Stan had laughed at him as he wolfed down a sandwich behind him.

Bill had merely hummed in response, still chewing, and Stan was at least pleased with his manners.

Bill kissed the inside of his neck a lot, and Stan had to pretend he didn’t blush every time he did it. Once, when Georgie had wandered a few feet away and way looking intently up into a tree with Stan’s binoculars, Bill had gotten a little carried away - placing open mouthed, wet kisses instead, hands beginning to roam, and Stan squirmed and had to shoo him off. Bill had just laughed loudly.

The TV flashed blue and white on Bill’s face as Stan looked up to it that night, head on Bill’s chest, fingertip tracing invisible doodles into Bill’s skin. Bill’s own fingertips raked gently up and down Stan’s arm, making his eyelids droop with sleepiness.

“And Juh-juh-Georgie liked to play in the rain a lot, and I alwuh-ways went out with him. We rah-haced paper boats.” Bill reminisced, eyes held on Stan’s from where he lay, and Stan was afraid he might strain them. His hand came up briefly to card through his curls.

Stan hummed, eyes fluttering closed briefly, but then opening just in time to admire Bill’s bittersweet, soft smile down at him.

“I don’t wah-hant him to leave,” He told Stan quietly, fingers twirling in his hair now. “It fff-feels like everything’s buh-buh-been lighter with him around. I don’t want it to end.”

Stan wished he didn’t know what Bill was talking about, but he understood.

“Me either,” Stan whispered.

“I always get like th-hiss when he goes,” Bill sighed, referencing his melancholy, “It guh-geh-hets so lonely.”

“I mean, I’m here,” Stan offered, not really thinking, mind half clouded with sleep.

Bill looked at him funny, almost with more sadness in his features than talking about Georgie leaving. He turned to look at the ceiling.

“I know,” He sighed.

Stan frowned and lifted his head, scooting up closer to Bill who’d dropped his hand by now. Stan linked his fingers with Bill’s and pushed up into his space, Bill closing the distance between their mouthed briefly. He brought his other hand to card through Stan’s hair more passionately this time, meanwhile pressing his lips to Stan’s nose and forehead and then each eyelid, Stan closing them in compliance.

“You sh-sh-should sleep,” He pursed his lips before poking his tongue out to run over them. His face was still twisted in a sort of pained expression. “You look tired.”

Stan nodded. He was tired.

Laying his head back down in Bill’s chest, Stan was killed into an easy sleep, warm fingers tracing patterns onto his back and the chest underneath him rising and falling steadily, heart rate even and there.

Bringing Georgie back to the airport was hard, unnecessarily so. Even Stan sort of wished Georgie had flown in on Bill’s private jet so that they could fly back with him, so Stan could live out just a few more hours of the fantasy that had been the past week - but that probably meant meeting Bill’s parents, though Stan couldn’t truthfully bring himself to mind the thought so much.

There were tears; Stan held his back but a few dropped from Bill’s eyes and more dropped from Georgie’s as the brothers hugged at the terminal. Stan hugged Georgie, too.

“Wait for me,” Georgie requested dramatically, holding Stan’s hand like he did the few nights before at the door to Stan’s room.

“Sure,” Stan relented, laughing despite his sadness.

“Not if I have anythuh-thing to say about it,” Bill joked, and maybe it was in Stan’s head that there sounded like serious undertones, and Georgie laughed.

“Come visit soon,” He nagged, “You never visit.”

“You’re guhh-honna miss your plane, twerp,” Bill laughed, prodding Georgie and his suitcase by patting his back. “I’ll _try_.”

“You always say that!” Georgie called, beginning to walk away.

“I really wuh-hill this time! Call me when you land!” Bill called back, and Stan watched him wipe at his eyes as Georgie disappeared with a wave of his hand into the crowd of people.

They didn’t talk on the ride home.


	14. thirteen: how to deal with rejection

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i dont wanna call this a filler chapter because filler chapters dont exist in good writing but like. in my original final outline i just didnt realize how short and non-descript the events would be jhfhkl  
> also i know ive been fairly kind of consistent with updates and now thats gonna get fucked up again bc i have finals impending and lots of final projects and im also working on quite a few other things as well so ;)

Stan Uris was never good with rejection.

His understanding of just how upset Bill could be over Georgie leaving seemed to be less than he thought, because he simply couldn’t relate to the closed off nature the man had immediately adopted.

He thought Bill was being dramatic, if he was honest, because it seemed to him that he was acting like Georgie had died instead of merely gone home.

Georgie did call, though, but Stan didn’t get to talk to him, and Bill had gone back to sleeping in his own room. On the first night, he considered following him, cuddling up with him in the bed he hadn’t slept in innocently for months, but couldn’t bring himself to push the door open as he stood in the hall and stared at it. He wished he could have convinced himself that he didn’t know why, but he knew it was because he wouldn’t be able to bare the thought of Bill refusing to hold him close, or worse, sending him back out.

He knew he didn’t deal with rejection too well; it always bruised his self-esteem too much, and he’d spent too much time meticulously building up the little bit he had for it to be so easily torn down.

Nonetheless, Stan tried his damndest to cheer Bill up. He wasn’t moping, exactly, but he avoided Stan and went straight back to working constantly that Friday. Stan almost called it going back to what had become normal, but that didn’t quite fit, because he felt differently. Thinking about his feelings as he laid awake at night one room away from where he wanted to be made him too choked up, though, and he often opted to just sleep, instead.

He half-thought that things might go back to  _normal-_ normal, what with how Georgie brought them back together and the three dreaded words were on the tip of Stan’s tongue every minute they were near one another in the past week, and so the current situation left him confused a great deal. Sure, not talking about things was probably not the best idea long-term, but Stan couldn’t bring himself to be rational about it, instead way more willing than he should’ve been to simply ignore things and be with Bill.

The thought made him feel odd, though, so he ignored that, too.

He tried fruitlessly for Bill’s attention. He got up with him and tied his tie before work, he brought him dinner and ate with him (silently, but Stan would take what he could get) in his office, since he was clearly busy, considering how much he’d been working, and he tried to strike up conversation whenever he could, no matter how lame the subject.

All in all, the lack of reciprocation made him feel pretty fucking pathetic, but, again, he ignored the notion, and continued, passing it off as busy. It was alright, he convinced himself on Saturday evening, because the next day was Sunday, and Bill always stayed home on Sundays. Sundays - if not the entire weekend could be afforded - were for Stan.

But Bill went to work on Sunday, and Stan pretended that his feelings weren’t hurt.

Bill was sat on the couch that same night, legs propped up under his laptop, white screen glowing on his face, and Stan saw it as a nice change from his office.

He sat down next to him, leaning slightly into his side. “You’re not in your office.” He stated, raising an eyebrow and waiting for some sort of explanation.

“I’m not.” Bill confirmed, still focused on whatever he was doing.

Stan frowned, adjusting so he was cuddled fully into Bill’s side, vying weakly for his attention.

Bill shifted in return, but instead of wrapping his arms around Stan like he’d hoped, he was moving in the opposite direction until there was space between them and Stan was forced to sit up.

Stan wanted to huff in irritation, and simply moved closer to Bill again in retaliation.

Bill shuffled away again, this time meeting the end of the sofa, and Stan met him there again persistently.

Surprising Stan, Bill stood.

“What’s wrong, Bill?” Stan tried to force humor in his voice, trying to laugh off the wounded feeling in his chest. God, he was becoming more and more like Richie every day, he couldn’t recall a time he’d ever acted like this. “I’m just trying to cuddle you, that’s all.” He laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too fake.

Bill closed his laptop and set it on the coffee table before rubbing his hands over his face with an exasperated exhale. “Why?” He asked when he looked at Stan finally, voice not harsh or cold, but rather tired sounding.

Stan’s mouth dropped open a little as he tried to come up with an answer, solid reasoning presenting him with empty hands. “I- Well- Last week- And I just thought-,” He sputtered, making small hand gestures like they would make Bill understand, completely embarrassed and overwhelming irritated with himself.

Bill sighed, picking at something on his shirt now, avoiding Stan’s eyes. “Luh-huh-hast week was a mistake.” He swallowed.

Stan felt his heart sink and he had the urge to get up and turn around and run away from whatever was happening. He didn’t want to know what Bill meant, but he  _did_ , at the same time, and found the question tumbling past his lips with a shaky voice before he could stop them.

“What do you mean?” He wanted to hit himself for being such a crybaby, it never worked out well for him. He looked at Bill with an innocent frown, eyes already watering. God, he hated himself.

Bill sat again, like the way an adult did when telling a child something important that they needed to understand. Stan couldn’t bring himself to be offended; he felt that small.

“I hate seeing you with Mike,” He began, talking with his serious, strained voice. Stan didn’t even have the capacity to ask him to stop and talk to him normally, talk to him like he was  _Stan_ , who  _knew_  him and  _understood_  him, and not some stranger.

“I don’t know what to make of the past week,” Bill went on, “I- I felt better than I have in months.” He half-smiled, maybe bittersweetly, at the statement. “But it made me think, and- and this cah-can’t go on forever, Stan.”

“I don’t understand,” Stan whispered so his voice wouldn’t break, looking away so Bill wouldn’t see the thick tears in his eyes - because he did understand. He understood but by some naive sliver of hoped he thought maybe it was possible that Bill wasn’t talking about what he was thinking about.

He was.

“We’re toxic,” Bill swallowed again, and Stan watched his hand twitch toward him from under his eyelashes. “We- we can’t be together like this, but I-,” He laughed bitterly, and Stan’s ears perked slightly. “I can’t stand the thought of being without you now. I don’t know what to do, but I know that we can’t do this.”

Stan swallowed hard, unexplainable anger at Bill or maybe himself or maybe everything for causing him such unnecessary amounts of pain building up quickly and making his chest heave and his eyes well up more. He looked to Bill at last, jaw tight so that it wouldn’t open with a sob.

“St-ah-han,” Bill’s voice shook after his minute of silence as Stan reflected briefly on himself. “Pluh-huh-hease don’t c-cry.”

But tears were already rolling hot and heavy down Stan’s cheeks, and he spoke loudly for the first time, wiping furiously at his face and scrambling to his feet.

“Too late, you  _asshole_ ,” He spat, temper-tantrum in full swing. “Fuck you, Bill Denbrough,” He paused to rub angrily at heartbroken tears once again, “Fir making me think that we have chance after chance and then ripping the  _fuck-king_  ru-g,” His voice broke, and he felt even more pathetic, if it were possible. “-Out from under my feet like my feelings are your- your  _playthings_!” He raged. “ _Grow up_!” He telles finally, eyes squeezed closed in his furiousness, before he stomped up to his bedroom without sparing Bill another glance.

His vision was blurry with tears and he hurriedly shut himself away, not listening to Bill’s calls for him, trying to get him to stop.

“Go away!” Stan yelled back childishly before slamming his door, locking it.

The tears really started pouring then, Stan not even fully knowing why, not even thinking straight. He knew he wanted things to go back to normal. He thought they would.

He wanted Bill, but Bill wouldn’t have him.

So, he cried.

He spent a long time thinking in his room, eventually calming down and sitting on his bed quietly. He thought about Bill, and about how it all started, and about how much he wished he could be the same person he was four months before when his biggest stressor was deciding whether or not to tell Bill how he felt. He considered how differently things would have been if he had.

Laying down, Stan thought harder about the way he felt back then. Back then, Bill had no flaws, and the only thing he could feel was adoration for Stan - the same that Stan could only feel for him.

Now he could feel so much more. He could be angry at Bill, he could see Bill’s flaws, he could dislike Bill, and he supposed he could hate Bill if he ever crossed that fine line.

And yet, he didn’t, and none of those things obscured his feelings now.

He considered his old feelings again, becoming distracted, before concluding that it was very possible he’d never loved Bill at all, before now.

He looked at his phone, left on his bedside table, and wished he could just call Richie. He needed someone to tell everything to, to cry his heart out to, but he couldn’t.

He sat up and decided to think logically, taking a deep breath and wiping his eyes again, though his tears were dry.

He knew, at the very least, that even if Bill didn’t want him around (as difficult the thought was to bare), he wouldn’t be able to be around Bill without feeling the way he did. That was a certainty for him now.

So he might leave. He weighed the prospects of it: if Bill didn’t want him around, then that was good enough reason for him to go.

The only thing standing in the way then was the money - how was he going to get away if he’d basically liquified his bank account by the time he was convinced Bill was the love of his life?

He sighed, flopping back on his bed and groaning at the headache of the situation. He wanted Bill, but if he couldn’t have that, then he wanted his fucking life back. He wanted his ugly apartment and Beverly and Ben and Richie and his stupid job as an Applebee’s waiter and going on a date with the cute chef (who he’d been trying to remind himself to call since Thursday but never really got around to…) and his own money and normal fucking feelings again. Was that too much to ask?

But having  _his_  life back meant…

He glanced at his phone, licking his lips before reaching for it.

He didn’t think he’d remember the number, but upon opening the keypad, it flew off of his fingers easily. He swallowed before hitting the call button, listening for any noise that indicated Bill was close by before pressing it to his ear.

“The Falcon, manager speaking,” The voice on the other line greeted him.

“Hey, Adrian, it’s- it’s Stanley, if you remember me. I worked there a few months back.” Stan spoke slowly and softly into the phone, eyes flitting to the window where the sun had just set and darkness was overtaking the sky.

“Oh, I remember you, sweetie,” The voice laughed, “What’re you callin’ for, Eddie said you ran off with some rich boy-toy.”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows and tried to remember if he ever actually told Eddie why he’d quit. He came up empty handed, but passed the thought off.

“I-,” He stuttered, trying to bring himself out of his thoughts, “I did, I guess, but I’m  kind of desperate for cash again, I’m stuck in a bad situation,” He pursed his lips. “Would you consider taking me on again?”

“Done, sweetheart,” Adrian snapped on the other line, and Stan almost laughed. “You were one of our best dancers, the place’s gone to shit without’cha.”

Stan let out a soft chuckle at this. “You won’t regret it.” He promised.

“I know, I know- Oh, I’m getting another call. Later, baby!”

The phone beeped before the soft “Bye,” could finish leaving Stan’s lips, signaling he was hung up on.

He didn’t know how to feel. He felt numb, completely blank-minded, until he reached behind himself for a pillow and his hand felt the plushness of a stuffed animal. He knew what it was, but pulled it forward to look at it anyway.

He held the starfish in his hands and swallowed hard, his left hand going to his necklace, his eyes filling with tears again.

He sniffled. “Stupid,” He mumbled, tugging harshly on his necklace, but never hard enough that it might break. He squeezed the starfish, trying to remember what Georgie had said that prompted Bill to give it to him. Something about eternal love? Love through hardship?

Maybe Bill ought to take it back, since it was obvious to Stan he wasn’t feeling that now.

A year fell onto the fabric.

“ _Stupid_ ,” He muttered again, squeezing his eyes and shoving the stuffed animal away.

It only took him a second to look at it again and snatch it back toward him, hugging it to his body while it absorbed his tears.

He looked up once and found his reflection in the mirror, and he brought a gentle hand to his own blotchy cheek, tracing over tear streaks. Wetness collected on his fingertips, and he gazed at them.

He looked down to the thing cuddled in his arms, mind flashing to Bill, and realized just how unfortunately in love he really was. He might not have known exactly how or exactly when, but it was there, and it was irrevocable now.

So, yeah, he would get out of Bill’s life, since that’s what Bill really wanted, even if it killed him to do so.


End file.
